


Roommates

by starlitcities



Series: A Billion Stars [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Blowjobs, College AU, Drabbles, Fluff, I made myself cry please cry with me, Implied/Referenced Underage Drinking, Iwaizumi being an awesome chef, Love, M/M, Oikawa being an artist, Slight Tanaka appearance, a lot of talk about the stars and such, because I'm a sucker for astronomy analogies, handjobs, literally these two just rip me to shreds, more tags as the story progresses, there you go
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-17
Updated: 2015-03-02
Packaged: 2018-03-13 09:01:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 22,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3375653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starlitcities/pseuds/starlitcities
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You're a damn sadist, you know that?” Iwaizumi growls.</p><p>“And you're one hell of a masochist, Iwa-chan. We're a good match, don't you think?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Roommates

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so this was something I literally started writing inside of twenty minutes that turned to 8 hours.
> 
> Have fun with this one!
> 
> A/N: There is alcohol mention in here, and both of these boys are 19 so I tagged it underage jic ^-^

Iwaizumi  _detested_  having Oikawa as a roommate.

He was messy, leaving his book bag wherever he saw fit, not placing his cereal bowls in the sink, always throwing his clothes throughout the room because he was almost always in a hurry, even if he wasn't. Oikawa always left a trail of chaotic mess in his wake.

Iwaizumi yelled at him constantly for it, but he never failed to clean up behind him, a heavy sigh in his lungs and an  _I'll kill him later_  stored somewhere in the recesses of his mind.

But it wasn't really the mess that Iwaizumi hated so much.

He had originally agreed to be Oikawa's roommate under the pretense that they would be the same as they were in highschool. Oikawa's slightly overbearing mother didn't feel safe placing her precious son in a room with a random person. "Hajime, you're his grounding point," she said, and of course, through two sets of big brown puppy dog eyes, Iwaizumi agreed.

"Iwa-chan," Oikawa sings, slipping his hand onto the plate. Iwaizumi swats his hand away, glaring daggers at the brunet. "Touch my food and I'll kill you."

Oikawa obnoxiously whines about how Iwaizumi shouldn't starve the great Oikawa-san, how this college volleyball player needs to eat. Iwaizumi rolls his eyes, but Oikawa is allowed to snatch a bagel bite. He pops it between his teeth and gives Iwaizumi a full mouthed smile.

"Are we gonna work on precal tonight?" Hajime asks, grabbing his drink to wash the synthetic pizza down his throat. No one said bagel bites were healthy, but they did taste damn amazing.

"Can't. As much as you would love to spend time with me, I've got a date."

Iwaizumi's used to hearing those words by now. Or, he should be. He's progressed from growing extremely rigid to just sitting in silence.

He says nothing, taking longer on his sip of pepsi than needed. Too long of a silence, and Oikawa questions him. He sets his glass down and clears his throat, eyes shifting away from his roommate down to the marred wood of the table.

Thanks to Oikawa's clumsiness in the kitchen, too hot of a bowl had damaged the wood right beneath Iwaizumi's hand. He traces slow circles into it, smearing the moisture from his soda around. "Oh?"

"Yeah, Yuki-chan. Are you okay if she comes over?"

"It's not like we share a room," Iwaizumi puffs, although he wants to shove Oikawa's face into the charred dent in the table.

"You're still my roommate," Oikawa mumbles, almost offended that he was brushed off so easily. "Sure, as long as you don't wake me up. Otherwise I'll put both of your asses outside the door."

"That's way too harsh, Iwa-chan! It's barely Spring!"

"Look at this face," Iwaizumi turns around and leans up to Oikawa. His voice drops an octave, a gravelly tone coating his words. "Does it look like I give a fuck?"

"You're mad," Oikawa sighs, his eyes rolling upwards to the ceiling, a groan rolling from his throat. "Iwa-chan, don't be mad. All you had to do was tell me you were jealous!"

"That's the  _last_  thing I am. Just don't wake me up. I don't wanna know what sort of things you do in that godforsaken shit hole you call a room," Iwaizumi presses up from his seat and swipes his drink off the table, briskly walking over to the couch. He pulls out his school materials and flips on the TV, forcing himself to ignore Oikawa whose slithering next to him on the couch already, puppy pout prepared.

"I promise I'll be quiet. Just tell me you're not mad," Oikawa pleads, "I don't know what I would do if you were mad at me, Iwa-chan."

"I'm almost always mad at you. Maybe if you cleaned up once in a while..." Iwaizumi grumbles, his eyes glaring at the dinner plate that Oikawa had abducted, still looking right at him from it's same spot.

"I'll get better at it," Oikawa nods.

Iwaizumi clicks his pencil open, tucking it behind his ear as he flips through to the latest chapter. He doesn't need help with math at least, it's one of his stronger subjects. Well, even if it wasn't, Oikawa wouldn't be here to help him with it. He slyly peeks at Oikawa, watching him disappear into his room and come out twenty minutes later looking dressed to pick someone up. No wait, scratch that. He looks dressed to get fucked up.

His never changing bed hair, the slightly exposed sunkissed collarbones beneath a deep blue dress shirt. He pulls gently at the loose tie around his neck, trapping his bottom lip between his teeth in thought as he fidgets with his keys and his wallet.

He always looks this way when he goes out with a girl. Oikawa's never been shy about his appearance. He knows he looks good, and he knows how to make himself look good when wants to. Only around Iwaizumi does he bring out the shittiest fashion sense known to man, complete with hideous plaid and color schemes so whacky you'd think he walked into his closet with his eyes closed.

Hajime's eyes run over him slowly, from the tips of his dark dress shoes to the slim fit of his slacks, to the dress shirt that reminds him just how fit Oikawa actually is. Iwaizumi hates when he dresses like this.

"Iwa-chan, how do I look?" He asks, posing all cheesy. "Stupid," Iwaizumi replies curtly, flipping his pencil between his fingers.

"How rude. C'mon, if you were a girl, wouldn't you wanna have all of this?"

He's teasing him,  _again_. Iwaizumi mentally sends heated curses straight at the brunet, whose eyes are burning with amusement as they fixate on Iwaizumi. He doesn't need to be a girl to want anything that's in front of him. The statement offends him, really. 

Oikawa moves past him, grabbing his watch from the counter and blowing a kiss as he heads for the door. "What time will you be back?" Iwaizumi asks casually, eyes not leaving the math problem on his page. "When you need me, Iwa-chan," Oikawa chirps, and the door clicks shut.

Yeah, he hates when Oikawa dresses like this. He hates it when he looks good for other people, his warm, inviting cologne only strong enough that you'd have to be close to him to know what it is. He hates it so much, because he knows that every time he finally finishes his homework, cleans up some section of the apartment that Oikawa's destroyed, and goes to bed, by the time he manages to shut his eyes, he'll hear the apartment door open.

It's followed by a series of low giggles and spit riddled hushes, the clumsy stepping of feet as he and his date for the night tumble into the bedroom.

Iwaizumi doesn't get the chance to sleep, the bitterness about hearing Oikawa next door,  _knowing_  he's next door with someone else drives him insane. But in a sense, it's easier when he does bring a girl home. It's easier when Iwaizumi hears the faint thudding of a bed frame as a reminder that the reality of having Oikawa as a roommate does not equate to having him as a lover.

The pain of hearing him nightly with someone else is oddly nice.

Because it washes away the pain from the nights he doesn't bring someone home.

" _Iwa-chan,"_  he hears the sloppy whisper tumble from Oikawa's mouth as he moves into his bedroom. Iwaizumi holds still for a moment, wondering if he should feign sleep.

"I know you're awake, Iwa-chan," Oikawa murmurs, "you're not snoring," he giggles like a five year old being told a bad joke. 

"You're drunk, Oikawa, go to bed."

"I'm not drunk," Oikawa sighs. Iwaizumi hears him knock into the edge of his bed frame. He curses beneath his breath and fumbles his way around until he reaches the bedside. Iwaizumi glares at him, despite how futile it is with only the minimal moonlight shining through the blinds.

"Iwa-chan..." Oikawa groans again, hands pushing at Iwaizumi's shoulder. He looks up, faintly making out the outlines of Oikawa standing above him. With just the little bit of light he can see Oikawa's hair is messier than usual, probably remnant from some girl's hands having raked through it earlier. He smells like alcohol, the blotchiness of scarlet blooming on his face and neck only further proof that he's intoxicated. He leans forward, and Iwaizumi feels his chest tighten; he's very, very naked, save for boxer briefs that hug low on his hipbones.

"Let me in," Oikawa pleads, tugging at the comforter. "No," Iwaizumi grunts, "go back to your room."  _This is for your own good._

"Iwa-chan," Oikawa whines, his voices sounds weak, pleading, desperate. It's always like this. Iwaizumi sighs and releases his grip on the blanket. Oikawa stumbles into the bed, rocking the frame loudly as he squirms beneath the sheets. "Stop moving!" Iwaizumi hisses.

He rolls over on his other side and slams his eyes shut, hoping that he'll fall asleep instantaneously. It's unrealistic, and comical, but he considers finding something to knock him out quickly and keeping that at his bedside for nights like these. Silence dwells in the room, save for the little rustling of bedsheets as Oikawa wiggles his feet around to get comfortable. 

"It's cold," Oikawa shivers.

"It's barely Spring. put some damn clothes on," Iwaizumi growls.

His eyes snap open when the bed rocks, his teeth clenching when two hands slide themselves underneath his shirt. " _Damn it, Assikawa!! You're freezing!_ " Iwaizumi rejects the touch automatically, but the hands lock down on his rib cage. "Warm..." Oikawa wiggles closer to him, tucking the shorter man against his chest. 

"Let me go."

"No," Oikawa nuzzles against Iwaizumi's nape, his breath hot against his cool skin. It sends a tremor down Iwaizumi's spine, and lodges every word of rejection in his throat. 

He's always like this. Drunk, affectionate,  _touchy_.

His hands explore, carving out, mapping every contour on Hajime's torso, as if he doesn't already know what goes where. The crescent arch between his pectorals, the subtle hills and valleys of his abdomen, the scar just above his hipbone. Iwaizumi hisses, his hands snatching at Oikawa's wrists. "Seriously, Oikawa. Just go to sleep."

"Don't be mad, Iwa-chan."

"I'm not mad. Let me go."

"Then hold me."

Iwaizumi robotically rolls over. He slightly groans when Oikawa shifts against him, looping his arms around and resting his hands on Hajime's back, curling his head into the crook between Iwaizumi's neck and shoulder. "Happy?"

"Mmh...Iwa-chan, be nicer to me. You're so mean..." he nuzzles himself against Iwaizumi's throat. The gesture sends electricity speeding through Iwaizumi's limbs. His brain turns to mush, unable to form a proper thought. He tries to grab hold of at least a fraction of his senses, just enough so that he'll fall asleep and forget about all of this. It's too far gone to push Oikawa out of his room now, so he'll have to settle for plan b.

Iwaizumi prayed for a peaceful night. He prayed he'd get a full eight hours of sleep for once and wake up the next morning refreshed, without any ache in his heart. But the powers of the world had it out for him, some personal vendetta for something--maybe kicking that one kid in the face when he was younger, who knows--and they had no intention of letting him have this one easy. Being in love with someone who had no idea, or maybe they did, and just messed around with the idea that they could have Hajime any way shape or form without complaint, was hard. Iwaizumi deflates his lungs with a heavy sigh and slides his eyes shut.

"So warm," Oikawa whispers, "my Iwa-chan," he butterflies gentle, breathy kisses along Iwaizumi's throat, whispering sleepy sweet nothings into his skin and tracing slow, lazy circles into his back. 

Iwaizumi drifts off to sleep, as he always does, arms wrapped about Tooru and brain reduced to nothing but fuzzy static as his skin sits over a low flame beneath nimble fingers.

And then, just like every morning, he wakes up alone, Oikawa either back in his room or making some sort of commotion in the kitchen, hungover either way. He pries himself from his bed and showers, goes to check in on the brunet to make sure he hasn't killed himself or burned the place down, and then he goes to class.

 

* * *

 

It's been a week. The first day is always awkward after but they return to normal rather fast. Since that night Oikawa has probably brought a girl over five times.

He was loud the last few times. Shuffling around the apartment with a girl in tow, the both of them giggling and slinking about the apartment. Iwaizumi waited for the bedroom door to shut. He counts down until the rhythmic beat of the headboard against the wall will go off, and he'll once again be reminded that he has no more emotional attachment to Tooru than any of these other people.

Call him a masochist if you will; he was beginning to accept that this was his fate. Iwaizumi glances sideways at a group of students gathered about an ashtray, each of them with a solemn look on their faces and a cigarette between their lips. He half wonders if anybody else experiences the type of heartache he does. Of course they do, that's a stupid thought. He then wonders if maybe smoking will take the edge off of his urges to heave himself into another dimension and avoid having to deal with life in general.

Iwaizumi kicks the tempting thought from his mind. He plays sports, he can't smoke. He doesn't like smoking. He tried it once and gagged, choking on the flavor of tobacco.

Hajime heads to math without Oikawa. He would be there, if he wasn't neck deep in praying to the porcelain god to keep his insides from hating him so much. He's probably passed out on the couch or something.

He comes back from class around late afternoon, finding the apartment untouched. A note on the dinner table says Oikawa is out again, probably with Yuki or Rei or Miki or whatever other girl he had in his speed dial.

Oikawa always writes cute notes with a scribble of some thirty second doodle he managed to place on there. Normally a face, or something to make Iwaizumi smile.

The brunet crumples the note and slams it into the nearest trash can. He prefers watching Oikawa take his time, steady hand holding a pen or pencil, resting above a sketchbook with a slight crease between his brow and a cup of hot tea within arms reach. Oikawa normally comes to life in the spring time, pulling out his artistic gift once again. He'll sit on the patio in oversized sweaters with god-awful patterns on them, tousling his hair and humming to himself as he draws something, anything.

Iwaizumi does his homework himself, makes dinner, leaving a portion sealed in the top shelf of the fridge for that idiot that probably won't eat. He considers making a second helping for the girl he plans to bring over, and for a moment he's bitter, thinking maybe he should make it taste rancid. He shakes the thought curses himself for being rude, but he can't bring himself to feed the things that take from him.

His eyes snap open, still heavy with sleep. He's dozed off. How long was he out for? He looks around the apartment and groans, stretching the kinks out from his back after having napped on his crap couch. He piles his homework back into his book bag and clicks off the TV, moving to clean up the plate in front of him.

“Iwa-chan, the dinner was delicious,”

He looks up, seeing Oikawa leaning against the counter, a lazy smile on his mouth, eyes blown and skin that blotchy scarlet once more. He tousles his bed hair and shifts his weight, tongue swiping over his bottom lip in what looks like much more than just to wet them absentmindedly. Iwaizumi narrows his focus on his dish, setting it in the sink.

He says nothing to Tooru, opting to keep out any room for a problem.

“Aren't you going to ask me how my night was?”

“I really don't care,” Iwaizumi breathes, and he can feel Oikawa behind him, nearing closer like a cat to it's prey, wearing nothing but a dress shirt and those form fitted Calvin Klein's again.

Iwaizumi stiffly bids him goodnight and takes long strides to his bedroom. He kicks the door shut with a bang and quickly peels himself out of his clothes. He'll just have to shower in the morning, he thinks, there's no way he can do it now with the risk of an inebriated Tooru lingering about the apartment.

He just about gets to sleep when the door clicks open, on cue, as it does every few nights. He considers putting up a fight again, hoping that maybe one of these nights Oikawa would finally take the hint and just leave him and his poor aching heart alone.

“Iwa-chan,” the voice whispers, having made it to his bed without injury. “Let me in.”

Hajime is too tired to fight back. He knows its futile anyway, and some big part of him that he won't admit to is sickeningly glad that this is happening. He easily just shifts over, saying nothing, keeping his eyes closed. Oikawa's skin is ice cold, his dress shirt nowhere to be found as he slips himself against Iwaizumi, ruffling his shirt upward and smoothing his hands over his tawny skin. “You're always so fucking cold,” Iwaizumi mumbles into his hair.

“Hold me, Iwa-chan,” he whines, and Iwaizumi complies. What's the point in fighting? He's tried that. Yes, it wasn't a good try. It was probably shit, since he's half excited that Oikawa's here. But he did try.

Iwaizumi slides his arms around the brunet as usual, thumbing the dimple in his lower back, the other tracing light circles in his shoulder. “Go to sleep already,” He sighs, heart thudding against his chest when the barrage of kisses start just beneath his ear. “You're so nice tonight,” Oikawa mumbles, a smile curving against the hollow of Iwaizumi's throat.

“Don't get used to it.”

“Mmh,” Oikawa shifts, rutting their bodies together beneath thick blankets. Iwaizumi doesn't flinch, but his hands freeze on Oikawa's skin. “Oi,” he starts, but Oikawa doesn't say anything to him. He continues his incoherent mumblings into the sweet spots on Iwa's neck, and shifts again. Iwaizumi definitely felt it this time. He's sure of it. “Stop it, I'll kick you out.”

“No,” Oikawa growls, it sounds childlike. If Iwaizumi weren't so frustrated he might of laughed.

His skin isn't ice cold anymore, and just as he warms up, he begins to move harsher, stronger against the teen whose got his arms around him. The kisses become sloppy, wetter than usual, lasting longer and almost more painfully on Iwaizumi's neck. He growls at the burn, knowing a few of those are going to show up the next morning. It sends an uneasy mixture of feelings spiraling south to the region that Oikawa keeps grinding against.

“Iwa-chan,” his breathing is ragged, blowing hot hair against wet skin and tightening every twitching muscle in Hajime's body. “Gods... Oikawa,” he pleads, but he hasn't moved, and they both know he doesn't want him to stop.

Tooru's fingers dance down his torso, pulling at the drawstring of his sweats and rolling them off of his hips. “Iwa-chan,” his whisper is husky, full of alcohol and warbled thoughts but sexy enough to melt every inkling of sanity Iwaizumi has left. He knows he was destined to go to hell the second he started seeing Oikawa as just more than the alien obsessed nerd of a best friend.

Their kiss is slow, tantalizing, tastes like rum and something else that's sweet. It's a slow burn, heating up every inch on Iwaizumi's face and neck, sending a fire through his limbs when Oikawa glides his tongue along his bottom lip. He responds without thinking, their tongues melting together clumsily. Even if he's intoxicated, his talent with his tongue isn't subpar.

Oikawa ruts their bodies together again, smiling when Iwaizumi moans into his mouth.

His hand is warm. Iwaizumi goes rigid; when the fuck did he shimmy his pants down so far? His mind is going blank, unable to arrange his senses enough to either stop this or at least think about it. His fingers dig into the skin along Oikawa's broad back, hissing at every stroke and thumb tease. He's trying to calculate what can't be figured out, and the more Oikawa skillfully handles his throbbing erection, the less he can put even a finger on how he got this far. He says nothing when Oikawa whispers his name, whispers how good this feels, how hard he is.

He grinds his teeth together in silence when his length is pressed between Oikawa's long fingers and his own thickness, hips grinding harsh and desperately together in what's hardly rhythmic, but primal and so, so fucked up. _Fuck_ does it feel good and _fuck_ is it so wrong but Iwaizumi's past the point of return. He couldn't say no if he wanted to because every bone in his body screams the opposite, and Oikawa knows it, right here in the pocket of sweat, heat, and the grabbing of skin.

Iwaizumi muffles a groan, but he's almost on the edge. Oikawa's teeth gnawing at his lower lip, his ragged breathing pressed against his mouth doesn't help. He mumbles something to let Oikawa know he's reached a dangerous point in this act but Oikawa just flashes him one of his slow, heavy lidded gazes and moves his hand even faster. A few more moves like that and Iwaizumi doesn't fall over the edge, he's thrown from it. A harsh, guttural cry half escapes his throat and stars burst into his vision. He may or may not have ascended to the curve of the atmosphere, his body light and riddled with waves of pleasure he never thought possible.

Oikawa follows suit just after him, his moans silvery, light and and whimpering, as if he could entice Hajime any more than he already has.

They lie quietly, the only sounds being their harsh breathing and roaring of heartbeats until they calm down enough to see straight. At some point Iwaizumi cleans them off the best he can with bedside tissue, too tired and euphoric to do anything thorough about it right now.

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa mumbles his voice smoky and full of sleep. His lips are swollen, eyes bleary beneath thick lashes. “Iwa-chan,” he repeats, cuddling him close and burrowing his face into his neck again. They're both asleep inside of two minutes.

 

* * *

 

Iwaizumi wakes alone—that's nothing new—with a tingle in his body and a numbing sensation in his heart. He pads around the apartment and finds Oikawa on the patio, sketchbook against an easel, pencil in hand, tea on the table. He's dressed in one of his tacky, oversized, three toned sweaters and slim fit jeans. Iwaizumi feels his stomach roll over. He looks like boyfriend material, _his_ boyfriend material.

Iwaizumi lingers in the doorway, eyes fixated on the finesse of Oikawa's sketching technique, roaming slow down the nape of his neck to the spot on his shoulder that's exposed and still has a deep bruise of a love bite from the night before. A cage of butterflies is released in Iwaizumi's stomach. That's his mark.

He leaves him be and heads to the shower, starting breakfast still without a good morning. Oikawa doesn't really like to be interrupted during his inspirational moments anyway.

The brunet comes in on cue when he smells breakfast. “Oooh,” he sings, dancing to the table, “it looks good, Iwa-chan.”

“You're cleaning it up,” Iwaizumi mutters, and Oikawa agrees, hungrily shoveling food into his mouth. At least his table manners aren't something to be worried about, Iwaizumi thinks, watching him suck on the pad of his thumb. It does something to Hajime that forces him to glare at his plate and eat faster.

“Say, Iwa-chan. Will you watch a movie with me today?”

“Eh? I thought you had plans today,” Iwaizumi peeks up at him, seeing Oikawa's brown eyes wide and eager. They're beautiful, Iwaizumi's always known that, but today he's marveled by them, the way they twinkle as he talks about this new sci-fi trilogy he wants to marathon, and how nobody else is suited for it but Iwa-chan, and that he won't take no for an answer because he's the great Oikawa-sama.

“Sure,” Iwaizumi easily agrees, his breakfast sliding thickly down his throat.

“Yay,” Oikawa grins, “I'll make popcorn, okay?”

“No, you'll go start the movie. I'll make popcorn,” Iwaizumi huffs, and Oikawa winks at him, slipping out of the chair and moving over to the living room. Iwaizumi smacks himself when he realizes he just switched up their chores in less than a New York Minute.

The movies are actually interesting. Despite Oikawa's sci-fi obsession, Iwaizumi actually likes these. They've got action, just enough romance for it to be considered heroic but not cheesy, plot twists and extra terrestrials that are plausible. They laze about on the couch between popcorn and drinks, murmuring something about the movie to each other every so often, only pausing when one of them has to pee. Somehow throughout this six hour adventure, Iwaizumi has ended up with Oikawa tucked against him, fingers carding through his hair, the other hand laced between the brunet's and tracing slow circles against his knuckle bed.

Though he's just taller, he looks so small here, curled up against Iwaizumi on this shitty comfortless couch, soft gaze fixated on the TV and ear pressed to Hajime's heart. “Iwa-chan, what do you think they're gonna do?”

“Dunno, normally the main guy dies after being captured this much.”

“That's so uneventful.”

“ _He hasn't even kissed the girl yet,”_ they say in unison, and both of them rumble with laughter.

Oikawa's eyes flicker upwards towards Iwaizumi, and he smiles slowly, but his gaze becomes bashful in the same instant. Iwaizumi's stomach leaps, just the gaze that swept over the Orion's Belt of roughed love bites along Iwaizumi's neck lights them on fire again. He mumbles something unintelligible beneath a heavy breath and tries to force the heat from crawling up to his face.

They finish the movie, and as Iwaizumi predicted, the main guy does in fact give up his life.

“That's so lame,” Oikawa wrinkles his nose, “I guess it's heroic. I guess.”

“At least he kissed the girl,” Iwaizumi offers, idly noticing that Oikawa is resting against his shoulder, lying on his stomach now. “Ah, well, that was a good series, don't you think, Iwa-chan?”

“Mh, yeah actually,” Iwaizumi looks at the clock. They've practically wasted their Sunday away, but he's not pissed about it. He's had Oikawa to himself for the whole day, cuddling and all.

Oikawa stretches out like a cat, arms draping over Iwaizumi's shoulders as a leverage point. He scoots up, nuzzling further into Iwaizumi's neck. Suddenly the room is smaller, and Hajime's breath catches. Oikawa is nowhere near drunk at this moment, and that makes him nervous. “Spring practice starts soon, we're gonna be busy,” Oikawa mutters.

“Yeah, we are.”

“So... I won't go out _as_ much. You know? Yuki-chan may just come here.”

Silence is weird with Oikawa. Sometimes it's perfectly fine, they don't need words, like through this six hour movie. Sometimes it's so awkward Iwaizumi wants to break it somehow, even if that means just saying the first word that comes to mind. But Iwaizumi knows where this is going. His heart wrenches, anger burning in his veins. He should have expected this, it shouldn't hurt this bad. He shouldn't have gotten so carried away with a few hours of cuddling his roommate that he's so irrevocably in love with, thinking that by some fucking miracle or alignment of a constellation that he might just have gotten what he wanted. That the powers that hate him so much may have just given him this one thing that he wants so bad.

“Iwa-chan.”

“What?” he answers, but it's too bitter. He bites his lip, sliding his eyes away from Oikawa with a silent apology.

“You're mad,” he mutters. “I'm always mad.”

“Don't be mad at me... I don't know what I would do if—”

“Get used to it then,” Iwaizumi grits, and Oikawa looks at him, almost mortified that he actually heard those words. “What...?” He asks, his voice almost sounding brittle. “Iwa-chan— _hey!”_ Oikawa slams him against the couch cushion, apology in his wild eyes, but his grip nonetheless firm. He drops back onto Iwaizumi's chest, fingers releasing his shirt and diving underneath. “Iwa-chan...” he sighs, tracing circles against his skin, leaving his slow, gentle kisses in all the familiar places.

“You're a damn sadist, you know that?” Iwaizumi growls.

“And you're one hell of a masochist, Iwa-chan. We're a good match, don't you think?”

Iwaizumi grunts in reply.

“You're always giving up, Iwa-chan... Why do you give up? You never give up on anything, so why me?”

Iwaizumi is silent. How does he even answer that? _Maybe because you constantly bring girls home? Maybe because I'll never be yours no matter what I do? Because every time you come close to making me believe that this might work, that this just might happen, it gets ripped from under me? I'm terrified, of shattering everything we have so far, letting it all go to shit because I can't keep my heart under control. Because you and your ugly ass clothing and messy hair are so beautiful I can't think straight. Because I've got this heavy, painful one sided love for you and it's just a joke._

“Just say it already,” Oikawa sighs into his skin. “Just say it, Iwa-chan.”

The words he wants to say, the words he _needs_ to say, don't come out.

“See...? You always give up on me,” Oikawa pulls away from him, grabbing his phone from the coffee table. He quickly changes into something that he won't be judged for, and shoves his keys into his pocket. “You don't have to leave food for me,” He says, his voice soft, but the icy undertone isn't unnoticed.

“When will you be home?”

“When you want me, Iwa-chan,” his ever present smile makes Iwaizumi nearly reach for the nearest object and projectile launch it at him. He's gone with the click of the door, and Iwaizumi's alone.

He'll clean up, do some homework, shower, make dinner, and go to bed, all in the usual pattern.

And around three in the morning, just when he's comfortably asleep, Oikawa will probably come barreling into his room, smelling of various types of liquor with sweet words on his lips and cold fingers to warm up. And he'll accept it all the same, the sweet nothings, the gentle touches, the pleasure of skin against skin that never seems to be anything more.

If only he could say _I love you_.

If only Oikawa could mean it.

He really is the worst roommate.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure if I should go on with this... so let me know what you think?
> 
> Edit: Since this got such positive feedback, I will continue to work on another chapter! Possibly a third! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing guys this means so much to me!!! ^-^ Please stay tuned!!!
> 
> Reach me on my tumblr [Tumblr](http://fukuchan.god.jp) or my [twitter](https://twitter.com/tendousatori)!


	2. Yakuza

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Should I even ask what time you'll be home?”
> 
> “Shouldn't you know the answer?” Oikawa moves to the doorway, glancing back at his roommate.
> 
> Iwaizumi's heart drops into his stomach. “When I need you?” He asks, his voice tight.
> 
> Oikawa smiles for real, but it's anguished, lacking in his usual sparkle. “There you go, Iwa-chan.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alrighty everyone, here's part two!
> 
> I've decided to make this a three chapter deal, so expect one more after this!
> 
> Hope you guys enjoy!!
> 
> A/N: This isn't rated explicit just for language, friendly reminder!

Spring was probably Iwaizumi's favorite season, despite the almost unbearable amount of pollen in the air and the number of people with colds, he had to admit he loved Spring.

There were sunny days, rainy days, some cold, some warm, but best of all there was Tooru.

Sitting perched on the balcony with his sketchbook, that adorable little crease between his brows and his tongue pinched between his lips as he created masterpieces inside of three hours or so. It was always the best when Oikawa was out here; he seemed so natural and relaxed, no pretenses, as if nothing could hurt him here. Iwaizumi often leaned against the doorway to the patio and watched him, a drink between his fingers, lips curved into the smallest of smiles and a twinkle in his eye because right here, in front of a pad and pencil, dressed in what was the shittiest clothing in the world, was the real Oikawa. The Oikawa that groaned and grumbled little words to himself if his lines were sloppy. The Oikawa that proudly sported a tacky purple and yellow checkered sweater like it was hot off the fashion runway.

“What are you working on?” Iwaizumi asks, biting down a chuckle when Oikawa's shoulders hiccup. He whips around towards his roommate, flashing one of his brilliant smiles. “Iwa-chan,” he breathes, “oh, uhm, just a little something,” he dismisses it with a slight wave of his hand. He pushes out of his chair and in two strides he's made it right before him, fingertips wrapping about Iwaizumi's drink and snagging it from him.

“You're such a freeloader,” Iwaizumi snorts, but his stomach rolls. He mentally curses himself for being so weak to visibly watching an indirect kiss between Oikawa's lips and the curve of his glass. It's not the first time they've shared _anything_ , but only recently has it done something that makes Iwaizumi's body all tingly.

Oikawa passes the drink back, swiping his thumb over the moisture on his lip. He pulls it between his teeth slowly, almost too slow for it to just be normal. Iwaizumi slides his eyes away, clearing his throat to warn his body that if it betrays him in any way right now, there will be hell to pay. “Iwa-chan, will you let me draw you?”

Iwaizumi blinks a few times, flustered and also flattered. Oikawa was actually rather picky about what he placed on paper. He normally avoided using people because “they can never sit still, and they always lose their cool.”

Iwaizumi reminded himself over and over that it would fuel Oikawa's massive ego if he told him that his face was the reason they couldn't sit still.

“You sure?”

“Yeah,” Oikawa smiles, drawing his thumb across his jawline. “You've got nice angles, and the lighting is just right. Please? It'll be good practice for me.”

“Alright,” Iwaizumi moves to the chair assigned to him. He shifts his weight back and forth on his sit bones, hands fidgeting between on the table or off. Oikawa shakes with laughter, watching the black haired teen struggle to find a position. “Iwa-chan, here,” he shifts Iwaizumi into place, resting his hand underneath his chin, the other rested on the table.

“Where should I look?” Iwaizumi asks, and Oikawa hums, tapping the tip of his pencil against his cheek. He's silent still as he flips his sketchbook to a new page, plopping it against his easel with a soft _thump_.

“Okay, look at me. Right at me,” Oikawa adjusts his easel into position, holding his pencil out towards Iwaizumi before matching it to his page.

Iwaizumi grumbles beneath his breath. “Don't make me look at something so awful for so long, that's cruel and unusual punishment.”

“How rude! Iwa-chan!” Oikawa barks, brows furrowing, knuckles turning white around his pencil. “I could always put you in a more _erotic_ pose y'know.”

“Then I won't be your model.”

“Ah! Okay okay! I'm sorry,” Oikawa begs in apology. Iwaizumi relaxes back into his pose with a sigh, and let's Oikawa go to work. The silence between them is natural, relaxed. Iwaizumi loves to watch Oikawa draw, especially when Oikawa gets really into his piece, leaning forward and back from the easel, flipping his pencil between his fingers in thought.

His shoulder rotates, the sketch being laid down rather quickly. Iwaizumi's eyes roam along Oikawa's sketch. It's nothing but a mass of lightly sliced lines along a page; Iwaizumi will never—in this lifetime or the next—figure out how Oikawa can see and do what he does with just a stick of lead.

His eyes travel from the paper to Oikawa's arm, along his shoulder to the frayed edges of his hideous sweatshirt. He spots a collarbones shifting beneath his pallor skin, and his eyes jump to the hollow of his throat.

His heart leaps when he remembers how many times his lips have landed right on that spot. He could probably remember every single place he's left a love bite on this brunet's neck. His eyes wonder along his jawline, taking in the divot of Oikawa's dimple as he bites his cheek in thought. His eyes are heavy lidded beneath thick rows of lashes, the curl of his messy bangs falling over his forehead.

Iwaizumi stiffens, recalling what parts of him he's touched, explored, memorized. The tiny dent in Oikawa's temple, so faint you couldn't see it unless you were close enough to kiss him. He can't remember how he got it, so he just rolls with _it's a birthmark_.

Iwaizumi remembers them all, the scar just underneath Oikawa's collarbone, the dimples in his lower back, the squadron of freckles just beneath his hipbone.

What he wouldn't give to run his tongue along that barrage of freckles right—

“Iwa-chan?”

Iwaizumi snaps to, finding Oikawa staring at him. “What?”

“Do you need to pee?”

“Wha?!”

“You keep shifting,” Oikawa frowns, clearly displeased that his subject is moving so much. “No, er...I'm fine,” Iwaizumi resists the urge to swipe his palm along his jeans, and wills himself to calm down. Oikawa only holds for a moment before he goes back to drawing like before.

Time passes faster than Iwaizumi thought it would. Oikawa is quick, but Iwaizumi also loses track of time whenever his mind wanders off about how nice it is to sit here.

“Okay, keep your eyes on me,” Oikawa murmurs, “I mean it,” he adds with a lower octave, almost as a warning that if Iwaizumi moves he'll surely slaughter him.

They lock eyes, Oikawa only breaking contact minimally to check his work or scratch at something he may have missed. His warm brown gaze is deep, soft, burning a fire into the lower part of Iwaizumi's stomach and holding him there, unable to escape. Iwaizumi desperately wants to look away, he feels every inch of his nerves snapping and sparking in what feels like fire. He's not sure if his face is red as a tomato, but this staring contest is so nerve wrecking for him. There's something about this moment, with their eyes boring into each other and neither one of them breaking the tension. It's not as much of a staring contest as it is romantic. Iwaizumi swallows thickly, gliding his tongue along his lower lip.

Oikawa raises a brow suspiciously at the movement, a slow smirk pulling at the corners of his lips. He cancels it, and breaks the eye contact. “What's wrong, Iwa-chan?” Oikawa asks slowly, and when Iwaizumi goes to curse at him, Oikawa sets the sketchbook down for him to see.

It silences him in just a few seconds.

He didn't expect anything less than a masterpiece, but this has him at a loss for words. It's beautiful, the shading beneath his jaw, the fading light along his arm, the sun spot right on his cheek; if you took a photograph and turned it black and white, this was it.

He eyeballs Oikawa's loopy signature in the bottom corner and raises a brow at him. “How you can make something like this...I'll never understand.”

“Anybody can draw, Iwa-chan.”

“Yeah, not everyone can draw well,” he snorts, shifting out of his position and stretching. “You posting that somewhere?”

“I might submit it for class... but then again, I don't want everyone to see what an ugly roommate I have.”

Iwaizumi cringes, rolling up his sleeve to wind back and knock Oikawa right off the balcony.

“They'd all start asking questions about you, and that's annoying,” Oikawa doesn't look at him when he says it, but Iwaizumi doesn't need to see his face to know that he's pouting.

Really, Oikawa's possessive nature is something else. It's not unhealthy, but he definitely can be petty about the smallest of things. Iwaizumi plants his hand on top of his head, ruffling the mess of brown curls beneath his fingers. “I don't want everyone in my face about it either, so just keep it between us.”

Oikawa looks up at him and flashes a smile. He leans back against Iwaizumi's torso and sighs upwards, brown eyes beaming at him. “Iwa-chan, you get me. You're definitely too ugly.”

“Have you looked in a mirror, Assikawa?”

“I know you think I'm beautiful, it's okay, I can read between the lines.”

Iwaizumi cards his fingers through Oikawa's hair with a deep laugh. “What lines, you idiot?”

 

* * *

 

Night falls on them rather quickly, the sun having disappeared from their patio by now. “You're not here for dinner, right?” Iwaizumi calls back to him.

“Did you want me to be?” Oikawa asks carefully, his voice low and honeyed. It's a dangerous tone, one that's asking a question with several hidden meanings.

Iwaizumi doesn't break focus with the cabinet, however, and just answers with a flat, “do what you want.”

He decides on stir fry for dinner. It's easy, and he can save some for the next morning, and an extra helping for Oikawa. “Iwa-chan, did you not want to eat with me?”

“I didn't say that,” Iwaizumi mumbles absentmindedly, fingers dancing along the shelf for the respective spices.

A gasp leaves his chest unannounced as he's whipped around from the cabinet and shoved against the counter, a fist tightly woven into his shirt and a murderously pissed Oikawa about a couple centimeters from him. “Damn it, Shittikawa that _really_ hurt—!”

“ _Look at me_ ,” Oikawa seethes, and although Iwaizumi was expecting Oikawa's rare but intimidating glare, all he got was a pleading, bleary eyed whine. “For once, would you just look at me?”

Iwaizumi holds steady against the counter, his knees suddenly feeling weak and his heart twisting and tightening deep in his chest. The familiar ache is back. “I am looking,” Iwaizumi murmurs, his voice level, a blatant refusal to Oikawa's pouting tactic. He always does this. It's nothing new, and it fades all the same. Iwaizumi refuses to do it again, succumb to his dejected mode, satisfy his every craving, and be placed back on the shelf for when he needs him again.

He'd grown tired of living like that.

Oikawa visibly shakes, his eyes wide and probing for any sign of giving in. When he doesn't see it, he softly growls and leans forward, eyes heavy lidded, breath hot and voice dripping with caution. “All you have to do is say, Iwa-chan. Tell me anything, _anything_ and I'm yours.”

Curse him for being crafted as perfect as the priceless sculptures in a museum. Curse him for having a voice smoother than velvet. Curse him for looking like Adonis when his personality was almost as intolerable as it was twisted. The words drip through Iwaizumi's skin and send his blood rushing to every part on his body that would easily let Oikawa know he'd lost.

“Anything, huh?”

“Yeah,” Oikawa breathes, lips close enough to entice but forcing Iwaizumi to make the first move.

Iwaizumi swallows thickly, and shifts closer to the counter. “Get off of me, you're killing my back.”

Even Iwaizumi could feel how shitty the mood had turned. Oikawa's seduction flips off, eyes losing their smolder, lips retreating, hands releasing Iwaizumi in pointed rejection. “You're incredible,” Oikawa snarls, and in a few long strides he's back in his bedroom.

Iwaizumi swipes his hands along his shirt and shakes the anxiety from his muscles, focusing on cooking to keep his mind off of anything else. They both know it's futile, so why do they keep doing this?

Oikawa reemerges from his bedroom, dressed like a King. He looks good, too good. _Way too good_.

Iwaizumi watches him search for his keys, his expression a blank canvas. “Don't be loud, alright?”

“What?” Oikawa looks at him, keys in one hand, phone in the other.

Iwaizumi looks over the dark slacks, the dress shirt, the extra messy hair. His exposed forearms should not be enough to send a man flying with impure thoughts but it does, and _oh_ are they bad. Iwaizumi's eyes rip from Oikawa's collarbone to see his face. “I said don't be loud, last time you woke me up.”

“Oh,” Oikawa half smiles at him, “sorry.”

_Shit, he really is pissed off,_ Iwaizumi thinks. An angry Oikawa is normally coated by a glittering smile and a stressed vein somewhere on his forehead. But a dangerously upset Oikawa is calm, eyes sharp as daggers and a voice that could cut through steel. Or hearts.

“You don't have to save food for me.”

“You always say that.”

“And you never listen,” Oikawa replies. Iwaizumi smirks at that one.

“Should I even ask what time you'll be home?”

“Shouldn't you know the answer?” Oikawa moves to the doorway, glancing back at his roommate.

Iwaizumi's heart drops into his stomach. “When I need you?” He asks, his voice tight.

Oikawa smiles for real, but it's anguished, lacking in his usual sparkle. “There you go, Iwa-chan.”

He's out the door without another word.

Iwaizumi stands at the edge of the kitchen, his mind blank, his chest tight? his hands balled into fists. It wasn't fair that Oikawa always won in these instances. Hr knows Oikawa saw the pained look of regret as he stepped out the door. He knows Oikawa is probably out and about right now, satisfied that he's shaken the person he knows full well is wrapped about his finger.

Iwaizumi retreats to the stove, hands shaky as he throws rice into a pot, vegetables into a pan. He glares at the lazy steam curls that rill upwards to the vent, because he wants more than anything to have Oikawa behind him, humming some tune while he sautées dinner, trying to steal bites because his patience is nonexistent, and crying when he burns his mouth. He wants Oikawa to call his name with a goofy grin on his lips.

If only figuring out his heart was as easy as making this dish.

Iwaizumi tosses the rice around, glaring at the steam that endlessly floats upward. What's so great about steam anyway? Absolutely nothing; its just a little something to throw Iwaizumi's head into the clouds full of fantasies that he could only keep as just that.

Steam, not too far off from the kind that lazily rolls up from a hot bath or shower. The kind that he'd love to be under right now, with said brunet only inches away, hair darker than cocoa and a lazy smile pulled back over bright teeth, trails of water running along every sharp contour of his body. Iwaizumi glares downward, exhaling heavily through his nose and ripping the knob on the stove to off. But the mental image only increases. How lovely it would be, to feel him so close between a haze that invited such intimacy.

He growls at himself and scrapes himself a plate full, dropping it onto the table with a loud clunk and slamming himself into the chair. It's stupid, how much he thinks about Oikawa, how much he thinks about pressing his lips to his face, his neck, his chest. Fluttering his fingers through soft hair. Or when he kisses him full on, mouth hot and wantonly battling for dominance between a talented and clumsy tongue.

The itch grows, running wild through Iwaizumi's every last nerve as he forces his cheek full of food. It tastes good; it'd taste better if he wasn't distracted by mental replays of how he'd pull and tug at Tooru's hair whilst the brunet holds hips steady, mouth taking in Hajime's length with fervor and excitement. The food would be fantastic, if he wasn't so concerned with how he'd slam Oikawa against the wall of the shower, legs tucked around his torso and a rhythmic grind that sends them both wheeling to euphoria. Or against the bed, where he'd trace every dip and curve down Oikawa's back until he reached the curve of his ass, pressing him against a pillow, eliciting moans and wails and silvery shivers to his name.

It's filthy, how crude and unabashed the deepest parts of Iwaizumi's mind can get. He's appalled at himself; this one guy can do so much to him.

His plate is polished save for a snow pea and a few grains of rice. He drops the plate into the sink and cleans around the kitchen, leaving the portion for Oikawa and retreating to the shower. This itch needs to end.

He crouches beneath the water, mouth open and eyes heavy lidded, his erection grasped between unsteady fingers. When's the last time he got off to the thoughts of his best friend?

Iwaizumi rests his head against his arm on the shower wall, his strokes slow as he conjures up everything his mind had raced through at the dinner table. Its easy when its Oikawa. He remembers the first time he jacked off to thoughts like these. It was getting harder to imagine a girl beneath him, on top of him, her high pitched whine on his name. It was a lot easier--and more satisfying--to imagine Oikawa in the same instance.

The whiny, breathless "Iwa-chan" that escaped full lips, his harsh cry towards the ceiling, body spasming in what could be the most powerful orgasm he'd had.

Iwaizumi prided himself on the idea that he would fuck Oikawa better than anyone.

He moans into his wrist, hips flexing as he spills across his hand. His breath comes in heavy pants, his chest rising and falling as the sound of the shower roars through his ears. He holds still, letting the last few waves of pleasure ebb slowly from his veins.

Iwaizumi finishes off his shower, cleaning off every inch of him as though he needed to remove the reality that he'd just gotten off on thoughts of ramming Oikawa into his mattress. Not that it's the first time he's done it, but back then it wasn't painful. At least, not as much.

Now, it was like pouring salt into an open wound. His already aching heart was just reminded that 'Hey, as much as you think about him, that's all this will be.'

"I know that," Iwaizumi growls, shaking his towel across his skin. He pulls himself into clothes and heads for the couch, pulling out homework. His mind is calm, no traces of Tooru to be found as he responds to lengthy questions for his literature course.

 

* * *

 

Iwaizumi starts awake, sucking in a breath and looking around the room. He's on the couch again, having passed out while watching late night Toonami and doing homework. He groans, the shitty couch making his muscles scream, and stretches upward. He moves to pile his books back in his backpack and turn off the tv, retreating to his room.

He jumps out of his skin when he hears a clink of a glass, and whips around, heart leaping.

"S-sorry..."

His heart sinks, no, plummets into his stomach, feeling acid soak into his every chamber and constrict his breathing.

She's cute. She's more than cute, she's gorgeous. Her eyes are big, round, the color of a morning sky, set beneath a full set of lashes and just above a row of freckles. Her lips are full, swollen, and that's more than just her natural beauty. A twinge runs through him when his eyes find that her lips have definitely been played with.

She's curvy, legs long and lean, supple body hidden beneath a navy blue dress shirt. Her small face is decorated beneath her blonde curls that lick her cheeks and fall just to her breasts.

She's beautiful, really.

"Did I wake you?" She asks, her voice soft. Iwaizumi blinks. She's probably a singer, a voice as clear and smooth as hers.

"No... no you didn't," he answers, his voice still thick with sleep. She smiles at him, and Iwaizumi suddenly knows why Oikawa chose this one to bring home.

"Thank goodness. Thank you, by the way. You're an astounding roommate. it's... Iwaizumi-san, right?"

"Uh... yeah. Don't mention it," he murmurs, and she'll take it politely with a laugh, but he's dead serious. He's bitter; she's so beautiful, and it doesn't take an expert to know that she's probably gone a few rounds in that bedroom already.

She holds the glass between her fingertips, biting down on her lip awkwardly. "You're an amazing cook, you know. Have you thought about pursuing that at all?"

"If I did, I probably wouldn't be neck deep in architecture," he smiles, albeit ruefully. So they do eat his food. "Thanks, though. You should get back. He'll wake up and go running around for you if you don't."

"No, he wouldn't," she tucks her hair behind her ear. Iwaizumi feels a pang of guilt. This isn't the first time she's been here, and she's no newbie to Oikawa's flighty tendencies.

"Hey..." Iwaizumi watches her rearrange her expression to look less pitiful. She peeks up at him, eyes innocent and lips pushed into a gentle pout.

If Iwaizumi wasn't in love with the idiot passed out in the other room, he'd have eyes for this girl, probably, definitely.

"If you're looking for a relationship, you won't find it here," Iwaizumi says, and the words taste bitter. He's probably a little biased, since he wants Oikawa to himself, but it's also the cold truth. Oikawa doesn't commit.

"Am I that obvious?" She looks at him, a sad smile tugging at her lips, finger thumbing the round of her glass. "Or do you know that from experience?"

"Probably both," Iwaizumi says it, but when he sees the girl smile fully, his eyes widen, his jaw dropping open with regret. "Wait, I didn't mean it like that," He corrects, but she just shakes her head.

"I know what you meant. It's okay," she exhales, pushing onto the balls of her feet and walking back towards Oikawa's room. "He talks about you. You're description was pretty dreamy," she laughs, "He's not wrong at all, now that I've seen you."

She waves him goodnight and slips back into the room, leaving him in the still darkness.

It hurts, really, knowing that even a girl he brings home often knows just how oblivious Oikawa can pretend to be. She's a good catch, he should take her, treat her nice, hold onto her for as long as he can.

But he knows that won't happen. In the morning she'll be gone after a shower and a power bar as a consolation prize, and she'll linger around Oikawa's habitual hangouts, waiting for him to grow needy again.

It's funny. He's the nicest guy, really. Even through his masochistic mindset, he doesn't really abuse his power. Everything is consented, and while he may not buy a girl flowers all the time or take her to dinner, you couldn't call him an asshole if you wanted to. Everyone loves him, everyone wants to be him, with him, around him.

Iwaizumi trudges into his bedroom and kicks the door shut. He discards sweat pants and rolls into his bed, curling against the pillow and forcing himself to fall back asleep.

It's useless. He lies awake for hours, mind floating around everything labelled Oikawa. He doesn't hear the clunking of the headboard, and it's a sickening relief. He might have liked to hear it, maybe it would have been enough to send him to his senses and quit being in love. He's also elated; he probably shot the mood down for that girl.

Maybe he should make her breakfast if she's there in the morning. He feels bad; he doesn't wish these feelings on anyone.

 

* * *

 

Two weeks.

Oikawa's grudge lasted for two whole weeks. A solid fourteen days.

Sure, he was back to normal as far as conversations go, but he barely looked Iwaizumi in the eye. He couldn't tell if the awkward air was just him overthinking at first, but when Oikawa went out despite an exam coming up, he knew he was still bitter.

He didn't do anything about it, though, he just acted like nothing phased him, carrying on about his business.

Even practice was a bit stiff, with Oikawa's tosses being a hell of a lot more aggressive than usual.

“You really did something to him,” Tanaka mumbles, side eyeing the brunet as he claps his hand against a first year's back, a wide smile on his face, just slightly short of breath.

Iwaizumi looks over at the first year, remembering that wicked spike of his back from high school; he's pretty thankful that he's working with him, not against him, now that he's gotten a bit taller and a lot stronger.

“What do you mean?” Iwaizumi asks, dismissing his small moment of reminiscing.

“His tosses today are seriously aggressive,” Tanaka mumbles. “I may not be used to the Grand King as a setter, but even I can tell that much. Plus, he's not as chirpy as usual.”

Iwaizumi half wonders if Oikawa is just that easy to read. “Chirpy?” He snorts.

Tanaka's skin colors slightly when his senpai flashes him a toothy grin, a deep chuckle rumbling from his chest. He'd always admired Iwaizumi, and he really couldn't believe that Oikawa was the only popular one in high school. He refused to believe it.

“Yeah, chirpy. Normally he gets like this whenever you two fight.”

“You're quite the observer for someone so outspoken,” Iwaizumi notes, his brow raised and arms folded across his chest. Tanaka stiffens, twirling a volleyball between his fingers. “Uhm...I notice stuff...” he grumbles.

Iwaizumi watches them go back and forth, Oikawa smiling when he hears that pleasant sound of the ball slamming perfectly on the other side, pouting when he messes up. He constantly asks for Tanaka's feedback with each and every toss, too high, too low, too hard, too soft. He's good that way, communicating to his teammate's needs.

“Ryuu, how was that one?” Oikawa asks, dragging the neckline of his jersey across his jaw.

“Perfect,” Tanaka grins back at his setter.

Iwaizumi floats about the gym opposite of Oikawa, and he wasn't sure if the brunet was doing it on purpose up until now. Oikawa is blatantly avoiding him, keeping on the opposite side each time a new drill is chosen. It's almost like every attack is aimed right at Iwaizumi. Though he's proud of his defensive skills, it can get tiring when every spike just  _ happens _ to come right for his forearms.

“Oi! Assikawa! What's your problem?!” Iwaizumi snarls through the net.

“What's wrong, Iwa-chan? Use your words,” Oikawa replies gravelly, an annoyed glint in his eyes as he whips the ball between his fingers.

When it's his turn to spike, he whips every ounce of power through his shoulder and extends it right out of his fingertips. The connection of him and the ball alone makes a sound frightening enough for a few first years to lean out of the balls path. They don't have to move too much, though. Iwaizumi's accuracy grants him just what he wanted. Right between Oikawa's eyes.

Okay, so the coach knew Iwaizumi had better control than that. Yes, Iwaizumi was punished to run laps. But the look on Oikawa's face was something he would relish in as he ran.  _ Take that Grand King _ , Iwaizumi mentally throws a jab.

Once practice is over, Iwaizumi takes off without Oikawa. Or rather, Oikawa takes off without him. He doesn't question it, of course Oikawa is probably still pissed off that Iwaizumi dared to mark his precious mug by denting it with a volleyball. Could he be blamed? Oikawa had been pouting for so long, acting like a brat around the apartment, being extra messy, making practice a living nightmare.

Iwaizumi had to remind him; just because he made him weak in the knees didn't mean he wouldn't kill him.

When he walks through the door, he smells traces of Oikawa's cologne wafting through the apartment. It's a bit stronger than usual, which means he's going out. Iwaizumi remains silent as he pads around the flat, finding a note on the kitchen fridge. All it has is a doodle of Iwaizumi with devil horns and a sinister smile.

Iwaizumi goes about his usual routine. He showers off his sweat from practice, changing into a shirt and his boxers. The later spring is beginning to kick in, so sweat pants are no longer required to sleep. It's late and he's tired, so dinner is just two packets of ramen thrown into a pot and inhaled over a couple of crime drama episodes. Iwaizumi wonders for a bit, what would it be like if he were a cop? Would Oikawa be his partner? Or would he be the criminal he was constantly chasing?

“Tch, if that kinda life were real, he'd probably be part of Yakuza,” he sighs to himself, freezing over his bowl when he thinks about Oikawa in a suit, a pistol between his fingers and his shit-eating grin as he holds it straight at Iwaizumi, neither of them moving but both of them knowing exactly what happens next.

“ _You'll let me go, Iwa-chan. Like you always do.”_

That statement is all too fucking relevant, even in an alternate universe.

Iwaizumi sighs. His heart has been aching lately, to the point he's becoming numb.

How much longer does this need to go on?

He washes his bowl and shuts off all the lights, fumbling his way into his bedroom and coiling into his crisp sheets. He stares up at the ceiling for a while, thinking about the girl that had come over the last time. The really pretty one. He wonders how she's doing, if she's given up on the impossible catch that is his stupid roommate. He kind of wishes he could see her again, hopefully happy and moved on. It's weird, but Iwaizumi feels this sort of need to protect people. He always has, or maybe it was just a habit that grew out of being friends with Oikawa. But it's always been that way, him being concerned for others. He really hopes that all of these girls walk away with better, more than what they initially had planned to get.

He hopes they all find good people to love, people that won't hold them by a thread. People that won't give them every bit of evidence to think they'd be in love, when really its just ease of access.

He prays nobody ever has to feel like he does. Torn between loving and losing the person you hold most dear. Dancing on the edge of a broken friendship and a never to be relationship; the way it pulls at the heart strings is unimaginably painful, and irreversibly torturous.

A heavy breath leaves his lungs, and he rolls over on his side, sleep falling over his eyes. He's knocked out no later than midnight.

 

* * *

 

“Iwa-chan,” the disembodied voice slurs through the still air.

Iwaizumi doesn't need to move, he knows who it is, and what's coming next.

His heart lodges itself in his throat; it's been a long while since he's come in here. Between mixed feelings of  _ get the hell out _ and  _ get the hell over here _ Iwaizumi panics. The second he gets to the bed, denying him is impossible.

“Get out, Oikawa,” Iwaizumi snaps.

“No,” Oikawa whines, and Iwaizumi hears the rustle of fabric. “Iwa-chan, let me in,” Oikawa pleads.

Iwaizumi swats his hands away, but Tooru's coordination isn't all lost. He fights back and rips the covers back, quickly scurrying himself in and cuddling up to Iwaizumi. “I win,” he snickers, drawing a line from Iwaizumi's forehead to his chin. He taps on his nose and sends him a childish giggle. “I know you secretly wanted me to join you. It's okay, Iwa-chan. I read between the lines again.”

“There are no lines,” Iwaizumi sighs, but he gives in. It's all familiar, the feel of Oikawa's hands on his back, moving slowly, the arraignment of kisses and whispers he drowns him with. It's nothing new, but it feels like fire. Iwaizumi sighs against his touch, craning his neck when Oikawa's tongue runs over the vein there. “Hmmm, Iwa-chan is soft,” he mumbles.

Iwaizumi chants a mantra in his head to will himself to sleep. He could do it, if he wanted to, fall asleep under the warm hands of Oikawa caressing him.

But sometimes, you just get an itch.

Iwaizumi folds his arms around Oikawa, tracing fingers down his arm, memorizing the curves of his bicep, his forearm. He pries one hand from his back and laces their fingers together, murmuring some non sense against Oikawa's skin. The brunet's lips pause against his neck, their fingers dancing together in what's almost a playful battle of gentle touches. Like silent, morse code messages passing between the pads of their thumbs.

Oikawa hums, sliding his hand from his back to his chest. He hikes his shirt upwards, chuckling low and thick against the hollow of Hajime's throat. “You're so gentle tonight...”

“Shut up,” Iwaizumi's voice catches when Oikawa's fingertips trace downwards of his abdomen, stopping just shy of the thick band of his shorts. Oikawa takes initiative, rolling on top of Iwaizumi, the soft pecks turning into hot, open mouthed bites. He rips Iwaizumi's shirt from over his head and discards it to some corner of the room, his breathing becoming more and more ragged with each bite he leaves.

“Oikawa,” Iwaizumi gasps, feeling the brunet card his fingers through Iwaizumi's hair, smoothing them along his neck and shoulders before they pin his arms at his sides. The lust in his eyes intensifies when he sits up just enough to look at him clearly. They roll shut, teeth baring in a low snarl when he ruts their hips together, eliciting a synonymous groan.

Iwaizumi breaks his arms from Oikawa's pin, clutching into his hips hard and rolling upwards. He drops his head back against his pillow, mouth open as a moan coils towards the ceiling, the low flame deep in his abdomen coming to life. “ _ Iwa-chan,”  _ Oikawa sharply inhales, diving downward to attack his neck once more. “Gods, do that again,” he shivers, voice like velvet trickling into Iwaizumi's ear. 

Iwaizumi rolls again, harsher, fingers pressing against Oikawa's hips hard enough that he's sure there will be a mark. But that's the last thing he's worried about. Right now, the pleasure of hearing Oikawa give shrill whines into his ear as he thrusts and grinds through thin and dampening fabric has them both slack jawed with scrambled minds. Oikawa yanks roughly on Iwaizumi's hair, sealing their lips together in a kiss that's almost painful. It's clumsy, their teeth clicking together, but it's waved off with a small apology, and a wet appendage gliding over his lower lip.

Iwaizumi gasps when Oikawa's teeth gnaw on his bottom lip, pulling back roughly, a smirk curled at the corners of his lips and a deep, throaty laugh of satisfaction rumbling through him. It sends a tremor down Iwaizumi's spine; just how sexy does Oikawa get when he's turned on?

“Iwa-chan, kiss me, more, so much more,” he begs, and Iwaizumi effortlessly complies, hands leaving his hips to cup his jaw. He runs his fingers through hair, slides his hands along his broad chest, breath leaving him when he brushes over a peaked bead and Oikawa yelps, shifting their bodies together in a feeling so good it almost hurts.

He pauses for air—because forgetting to breath while making out with Oikawa is totally normal, if not expected—and looks up at the ceiling, feeling the brunet linger above him. “Can't...breathe. Hold on,” Iwaizumi gasps when Oikawa pouts, whining impatiently above him. Oikawa then smiles slowly at him, eyes blown with intention. He presses a kiss on him, hands running downward. “I'm just that good, huh,” he teases.

Iwaizumi curses. It's nothing too far off from the truth. He hates himself for thinking it, but Oikawa is actually good at this...whatever this is. This molding of mouths together, grinding into what should be something. Iwaizumi growls, his jaw dropping open when Oikawa's mouth trails down his body, before pressing wetly against his clothed erection. He shudders, eyes rolling to the back of his head. “Oikawa, wait a sec--!”

“No way,” Oikawa nuzzles against the fabric. It's almost too much when Oikawa slowly drags his shorts from his waistline. He kisses and nips at hipbones, sweet nothings as cheesy as those shit chalk valentines sweethearts murmured against his bronze skin. A guttural moan spills over his bitten lips when Oikawa's hand wraps about his cock, thumbing the head in slow circles. “ _ Fuck, Oikawa,” _ Iwaizumi's lungs deflate all the air he's tried to catch up to now.

He winces at the pain of a love bite or two being marked on his hip bones, muscles flexing when Oikawa's mouth nears closer to his hand. He kisses the tip tentatively, peering up at Iwaizumi. “Hmnn, I'm really nice, satisfying your fantasies like this,” Oikawa murmurs.

“You're fucking insane.”

“Yeah,” Oikawa nods. His tongue runs a wet stripe from base to tip, whirling around the head before he sinks his mouth over it. It's gentle, hesitant, a trial run if anything. But it's far beyond what Iwaizumi's imagination could have ever fathomed. A tremor runs through his spine; this is actually happening. This is _ real! _ Excitement courses through his veins; he turns his face into his pillow, fingers finding their way into Oikawa's hair. The brunet holds his hips steadfast against the bed, mouth moving in rhythm with his hand. He hums against his shaft and it sends Iwaizumi reeling, his mind having disconnected from his body long since Oikawa's mouth sank over his shaft, hips fighting to rock against his wet cavern.

Oikawa slowly descends, taking in as much of Iwaizumi's length as he can. He's well endowed, that's for damn sure. Iwaizumi feels the tip brush something in Oikawa's mouth and he hisses, senses lost to a spasm of his nerves. One more movement like that and he's done for.

Oikawa pulls off, kissing a trail back up Iwaizumi's stomach and chest until he reaches his mouth. “You taste good,” he hums, licking his lips hungrily. Iwaizumi knows for sure if a light was on he'd be the color of carmine. Thank goodness this is in the dark. “Sh-shut up...” Iwaizumi growls, tasting himself on Tooru's tongue. It sparks a moan from him he didn't know he had. Just the thought alone of how real that blowjob just was has him ascending into another world.

He rolls them over, pressing Oikawa into the pillows and trapping their cocks between his hand. “Iwa-chan,” Oikawa gasps, eyes wide, skin blotchy with rouge and tongue latched onto the corner of his mouth.

Bites, bruises, scratches. Iwaizumi leaves them everywhere. He marks Oikawa on every inch of him that he can, rhythmically thrusting into his palm with slight grunts and growls. Oikawa's nails dig into his back, the other into his hair as he yanks him downward for a searing kiss, moaning strangled, high pitched into Hajime's mouth. A litany of moans and gasps roll off Oikawa's tongue. “ _ Ah, Iwa-chan! Faster...yeah! Yes!” _

“Jesus, you're so vocal,” Iwaizumi grumbles, knowing full well he's never been this loud when he brought women over. But it nit picks at Iwaizumi's pride again. He's the only one who could ever make him sound like this. He's beautiful. His bangs clinging to his forehead, eyes heavy lidded and mouth agape, hands unable to stay in one place for long. His muscles flex with each and every movement he gives, as he slowly unravels into the deepest levels of intimacy just beneath Iwaizumi it what could be the most fucked up scenario, but it's so right because they're bonded, and no matter what happens after, this never changes. He's gorgeous, the way he rolls against Iwaizumi in a plea of how good it feels, how hot it is, how so fucking right it feels. Iwaizumi wouldn't stop right now if the world ended.

He's slightly pissed there isn't a bottle of lube or a condom within a ten foot radius, or he'd already be balls deep inside the brunet, slamming into him with just as much desperation as he'd demonstrated earlier.

Oikawa shifts his hips against him, and that does it. It sends him over the edge. His toes curl, head dropping and back arching off the bed, a guttural cry shouting from the very inner core of him as stars ebb into his vision and nothing else matters because  _ fuck _ this feels so good and so right. “Fuck...Iwa-chan...!  _ Coming, I'm coming,” _ he gasps against Iwaizumi's cheek, a hard tug in his hair and a visceral jerk of his hips.

The sound of Oikawa's voice bouncing through the walls, watching him spasm and shake beneath him as his orgasm riddles through his whole body sends Iwaizumi toppling over the edge. He groans against Oikawa's skin, riding out the tremors as a string of heated curses is pressed into Tooru's neck. He starts seeing spots, his body feeling light and almost dizzy, his thoughts having left him long ago, but he knows above all that this felt so good, and it was so  _ real _ , and just that alone sends another bonus wave through his spine and onto Tooru's stomach.

They slump together in a tangled mess of sweat and sensitivity, every small shift causing either of them to groan or whimper. Oikawa softly mewls, batting Iwaizumi's hand away from his twitching cock, the feeling  _ so _ good and so hypersensitive it's painful. 

They lie quiet, nothing but heavy breathing to be heard between them as they regain consciousness.

Jesus _fuck_ that was mind obliterating.

Oikawa breaks the silence first, a deep chortle bubbling over the wry smile on his lips. “What?” Iwaizumi asks.

“You looked at me, the whole time.”

Iwaizumi watches him smile through eyes thick with fatigue. “If you were me, you would have, too.”

“Is that your way of telling me I'm beautiful?”

Iwaizumi doesn't answer and reaches for the tissue box, cleaning up what's starting to feel gross and unwanted. It's only appreciated while its warm and wet and brand new, at the peak of the tipping point. After that, come is just awkward and unnecessary.

“Why is it you'll only touch me if I'm drunk...?”

Iwaizumi tosses the gross clump of paper into the trash bin, making a mental note to throw that out as soon as he wakes up. His eyes slowly find Oikawa, whose motioning Hajime's shorts back over his hips. He draws his fingers along his sides, stopping when they reach the base of his neck. It leaves a tingle on Iwaizumi's skin. He's already so weak to Oikawa, and right now he'll almost do and say just about anything.

Almost.

“Go to sleep,” Iwaizumi murmurs, but Oikawa shakes his head, bringing Iwaizumi close, his eyes heavy lidded, a rueful smile pulled back over his teeth as his fingers lodge themselves into his hair. “If I stayed with you to the morning, would you say it?”

“There's nothing to say.”

“Yeah there is... I want to hear it from you first.”

“Why?” Iwaizumi asks hoarsely, annoyed that he's so damn talkative, and on a taboo subject of all fucking things. Couldn't this have been like other nights? Where they fall asleep wrapped about each other with nothing but satisfaction on the mind?

“Because then I'll know you're serious.”

“That's rich, coming from the number one playboy,” he snorts, feeling Oikawa press gentle kisses against his cheeks, his jaw. It tugs at his exhaustion, making it hard for him to rest on his forearms.

“Just say it, Iwa-chan...”

“Not to someone who can't commit.”

Iwaizumi freezes.

Fuck, did he say that?

No doubt about it, the tightness coiling in his stomach and the lack of movement from Oikawa makes it clear as day. He actually said that. Well, there's no taking it back. _Go ahead, Oikawa, go back to your room, let's end this right here, right now._

“So that's it...okay,” he slurs, shifting the both of them so they're on their sides, bodies tucked together as usual. “Goodnight then, Iwa-chan.”

Wait a minute.

“Oi, what the hell? You can't just fall asleep—Oikawa!” Iwaizumi hisses, but the brunet is already comatose.

Sheesh, if only he were coherent. The thought actually marvels him. What if he was sober? What if he was wide awake? What would he have said?

Iwaizumi knows it, somewhere in the deepest part of him. He'd rather not deal with something like this when Oikawa had all his defenses up. He'd act just like he did two weeks ago, turning cold and bitter, refusing to look him in the eye or touch him. He hates that idea so much more, even though this is painful, and believe it, it hurts so fucking bad he could cry, but the idea of no Oikawa at all is a million times worse.

He buries his face into Oikawa's messy hair and wills himself to fall asleep.

He'd rather it be like this, where he submits to Oikawa nowhere else but the confines of the apartment, satisfying that itch on occasion and acting like it had never happened in the morning. Spending time together as though they were a married couple and watching him walk through the door repeatedly with an affair on his arm.

“ _You'll let me go, Iwa-chan. Like you always do.”_

“Idiot...that'll never happen,” Iwaizumi whispers wobbly and tightens his grip. Of all things to think of right now, that Yakuza idea should be the last of them. Held at gunpoint, staring down the barrel of Oikawa's pistol, heart locked in a briefcase tucked between Oikawa's fingers, that ever present smirk and the snarky glint in his eyes. He'll never stop chasing him, no matter what he does.

Thank his lucky stars Oikawa is in a deep sleep right now. He has no idea what he'd do if that bastard saw him cry.

  
  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so yes, I added Tanaka to their team. He's only minor in the story really, but I really like the idea that Iwaizumi would work alongside another strong spiker in college--it seemed a bit cliche to stick him one of Karasuno's third years--and Tanaka totally fits that roll! Plus, as influential and cool as Iwa-chan is, Tanaka would def be smitten ;3
> 
> I hope you guys liked it! I cranked this one out just for you guys. Go easy on me, I'm still new to writing explicit stuff :3 Let me know what you thought in the comments below okay? 
> 
> Also a HUGE thank you to everyone who gave kudos, comments, and even bookmarked! You all are really sweet!!! 
> 
> Reach me on my tumblr [Tumblr](http://fukuchan.god.jp) or my [twitter](https://twitter.com/tendousatori)!


	3. Sun and Stars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I always smile, though.”
> 
> “Not like this,” Iwaizumi brushes his thumb across the bottom of Oikawa's lip. “This one is the realest of them all. Vulnerable too.”
> 
> “I guess that's why you're the only one that sees it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright guys, here's the very last chapter! I'm so soo sorry it took forever to get this one out, I had to work on exams and such for school. I'm taking 19 units in college and I'm ready to cry ;-;
> 
> But I finished it just now! So here you go! I really hope you guys enjoy this one c:

Maybe it had started out as simple friendship; nothing more than just the enjoyment of having that one kid who lived nearby that you could play with almost every day, share stories about how awesome that action show was on tv the night before, trade the snacks in your lunchboxes; the simple things.

Yeah, that's probably all it was at first.

When did it become more than that?

When did the nicknames and the hangouts start to feel like pet names and dates?

Iwaizumi can't remember when, it all sort of blurs together when he sees nothing but sunshine radiant on skin and a thousand constellations in his eyes, roses on cheeks and sweet, sweet nothings on lips. _Damn it,_ he's so in love he can't think straight. He thought maybe one day, after so many years, the feeling might stop growing. Oikawa might not look so radiant. He thought after watching him date girl after girl, flirt continuously with almost everyone in his presence, that the feeling would fade.

Looking back, he laughs at how naïve he was. Oikawa is a natural people pleaser, it's just another one of the things he loves about him. If anything, it warmed his heart to see Oikawa thriving in his natural setting, everyone admiring him, everyone loving him, the ones that really know him giving him grief for his childish tendencies. No matter how much someone tried to convince themselves that they might hate him, the word would always be a lie on their tongue. It's impossible to hate Oikawa Tooru.

Iwaizumi knows that first hand.

He tried to tell himself over and over that he hated him, being conscious of his feelings and using them to his advantage, playing coy and innocent whenever he was put into a corner. And yet, anytime he said it, it tasted bitter and wrong, like he had to make up for it somehow.

“Iwa-chan...if you think too hard you'll hurt yourself.”

Iwaizumi visibly relaxes as Oikawa presses the pad of his index finger against the crease between his brows. He glares at the brunet, but only for a split second. His eyes shift past the brunet's mop of mess feathered about his forehead and narrows on the clock. Ten in the morning.

Not only is he thankful it's a Saturday—he slightly panicked, thinking he was extremely late for Literature—but it's way past the usual wake up call and...Oikawa is still here.

He blinks, and blinks again, even a third time, wondering if he opens his eyelids after a couple of adjustments he might find himself alone like he normally does.

Nope.

Even after the sixth blink, there he is, eyes warm and heavy lidded, still riddled with sleep, lazy smile tugging at the corners of his mouth and patches of scarlet brushed across his face and neck. He's decorated with a gold lining around him that bronzes his hair and illuminates his shoulders, deepening the shadows on his chest. Oikawa in the morning is probably one of the most breathtaking sights there is. And he's actually getting to experience it.

His heart freezes in his chest, skipping a beat or two before in painfully throbs and reminds him he's overly excited. “What's with that face?” Oikawa asks.

“Uh...no, nothing. Uhm,” Iwaizumi clears his throat, idly noticing their limbs still tangled together.

He'd fantasized an immeasurable amount of times about this scenario; he had not even the closest clue of what to do if it actually happened. _Act normal_ was out of the question, he could barely think over the roaring of his heartbeat in his ears.

“You rarely sleep in this late,” Iwaizumi mumbles after a bit of awkward silence.

“You're really terrible at this morning cuddle thing, aren't you?”

He feels all the blood rush to his face. “S-Shut up!”

“Ah, I forgot, Iwa-chan is totally new to this.” Iwaizumi goes rigid when Oikawa shifts closer to him, adjusting his head onto his bicep. He nuzzles the spot just below his collarbone, a melodic hum attached to a pleasant sigh when he finds just the right position.

Iwaizumi looks at the alarm clock, waiting for the powers at hand to release him from this wonderful dream. As great as it is, and as much as he would _love_ for it to be real, it'll only hurt the longer he stays asleep. He crunches his eyes shut in an attempt to snap himself out of his dream. “Is it really that weird that I'd be here?” Oikawa mumbles against tawny skin.

He let's out the breath he didn't know he'd been holding. “Or is it better if I just leave?”

“No,” Iwaizumi replies, almost too quickly. Oikawa peeks up at him bashfully, teeth grazing along his shoulder. “It's weird...but good...Why?”

“I felt like it,” Oikawa shrugs. “You know...if you keep killing the mood I might just go make breakfast.”

“Oikawa, you can't cook. You'll just blow up the kitchen.”

“Then get with the program, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa demands, his voice an octave lower than usual. “What...what do you want me to do?”

Oikawa groans, dragging his hand across his face in frustration. Sheesh was this boy lacking in the romance department. “What do you _want_ to do, Iwa-chan? Kiss me, hold me, tell me how good I look right now—not that it's any different from how I always look,” Oikawa smiles at himself, pleased with his self confidence.

“It's different,” Iwaizumi answers, and Oikawa looks at him carefully, expecting a smart ass answer. Iwaizumi reaches forward and tousles his hair gently, gaze soft, shoulders relaxed. “It's better. Personal...intimate,” he frowns at himself, unable to form the right word, “radiant...mine.”

He realizes the last word that had tumbled from his lips was _way_ too close of a call. He almost goes to back out of this whole idea, his legs itching to high tail it out of the room. Instead, Oikawa slides his hands against Iwaizumi's jaw, forcefully rolling Iwaizumi onto his back. He settles on top of him, thumbs tracing his mouth and jawline. “Well, you've got the talking part down, kind of,” Oikawa hums.

There's nothing. There's nothing around them, between them, that could ruin this. Iwaizumi feels butterflies fill his stomach, so much that it might burst. He's not sure what's sitting just behind his lips, whether it's laughter or a cry, but he's not too worried about it. Oikawa simmers the anxious feeling behind his lips into a breathless gasp. It's slow, gentle enough to be hesitant, yet desperate enough to be necessary.

There's nothing in his mind but fireworks, lighting every nerve on fire beneath Oikawa's touch. There isn't a word to describe it, it's just something you discover when it happens, something you never forget; the feeling never dies out. It twists and tugs at his heartstrings, despite being just the simplest of good morning kisses, but it means so much before because he is sober, it's just past ten am, and the sunlight is beaming through the window and warming their skin beneath rumpled bed sheets and tangled fingers.

It's perfect, in every essence of the word.

“You look like you're gonna float away,” Oikawa laughs, his smile brightening up the room even more.

Iwaizumi doesn't have anything to say. He can't think of a solid sentence that wouldn't come out like garbled gibberish. “Good morning, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa sighs, pressing their foreheads together.

“You're affectionate this morning.”

“I'm affectionate every morning if you're nice to me.”

“Hmn,” Iwaizumi grunts in reply. He rubs slow, kneading circles into the back of Oikawa's hand, their laced fingers sliding up to rest against the pillow.

He's being careful with his word choice, but he really wants to know. What's making Oikawa stay here?

Was it something he did last night? He runs through the scenario, his face flushing when he recalls Oikawa's sexed out expression. He shakes it off; he can't come up with anything.

“Hungry?” Iwaizumi asks.

“Mmnh...kind of,” Oikawa shrugs, butterflying kisses along his throat. “But I don't want to move yet.”

Iwaizumi swallows thickly; this isn't a dream, but maybe he somehow died and was forgiven for all of his sins, ascending into a pleasant heaven where everything he ever wanted was granted to him. Or at least, the one thing he wanted most in his life.

“Iwa-chan, stop thinking.”

“I'm not—”

“I know you too well,” Oikawa uses his one free hand to prop himself up enough to look Iwaizumi in the eyes. “Think less, kiss more, yeah?”

“How do you say that so easily...?”

“Experience. Plus, it's Iwa-chan. Should I be embarrassed?”

“Maybe,” Iwaizumi grumbles, but a lazy smile stretches across his face. He tilts his chin up enough to meet Oikawa in another one of those earth shattering kisses, the ones that send him soaring through the stars, lighting up constellations along the network of his nerve endings.

“Intimate...radiant,” Oikawa sighs into his mouth. “I'm radiant?”

“Yeah, especially when you smile,” Iwaizumi mumbles. This is totally fueling Oikawa's ego for later, and it's probably going to be used as blackmail at some point later down the line, but Iwaizumi really doesn't care in this moment. He would tell Oikawa anything he wanted to hear about himself right now.

Oikawa's lips curve into just the grin Iwaizumi is talking about. He chuckles softly, not bothering to duck his head away when his cheeks become rosier than usual. “I always smile, though.”

“Not like this,” Iwaizumi brushes his thumb across the bottom of Oikawa's lip. “This one is the realest of them all. Vulnerable too.”

“I guess that's why you're the only one that sees it.”

“Gods you are so embarrassing,” Iwaizumi laughs, loud and full and straight towards the ceiling, “are you always this cheesy?”

“I don't need you to tell me you love it, I read between the lines,” Oikawa winks. Iwaizumi nods, sitting up and tucking his arms around Oikawa's bare waist. “You and those stupid lines...”

 

* * *

 

As if it wasn't weird enough that Iwaizumi had spent the entire weekend with his arms around Oikawa, the brunet was even more affectionate in public. He was constantly putting his arms around Hajime, murmuring something to him sweetly, offering to go with him almost wherever he went, doing his best to politely excuse himself from his friends and fans that tried to crowd around him.

Iwaizumi was convinced that he'd died and gone to heaven; there was no way that all of this was real.

He sits in the back of his math class, bored as he stares at the large drop down screens flooded with problems and examples, something about precalculus that he really didn't have the patience to focus on today. He was too much in a day dream about how surreal his time with Oikawa had been for the past four days.

He'd wake up with his arms around him, they'd go about their usual morning routing of eating and getting ready, the difference being that once they got to campus, Oikawa stayed near him until he absolutely had to leave.

They met up for every break, eating lunch together, running to the bookstore, or spending time planted on a bench waiting as time passed by.

If they weren't together, Oikawa was sending him texts or snapchats, nothing out of the ordinary, but just weird because he normally didn't send this many.

Practice went like normal, and then once they got back he was all over him again. Sober, absolutely sober even when they went to bed. He didn't even bother walking into his room these past four nights, he just followed Iwaizumi into his and curled into bed. Iwaizumi was introduced to Oikawa's sober sex drive these past few nights, and he's still deciding on whether or not he's okay with it. No that's a lie, he's reveling in it, but damn does Oikawa have stamina.

Iwaizumi didn't expect to explore any more than he already thought possible; he didn't think he'd toss up his virginity to Oikawa that fast, but when the moment presented itself he couldn't resist. Their first time was somewhat clumsy, full of laughter and copious amounts of lube that turned things into a mess. But it was still passionate as ever, giving them both climaxes so powerful it nearly dropped them out of consciousness. And just like everything else, it became something they did with routine, and it was wake up, rinse, repeat.

“Pssst.”

Iwaizumi glances to his right, seeing Oikawa looking at him, eyes beautifully brown and round, unblinking, full of everything Iwaizumi could have asked for. He quirks a brow as if to ask what he wants, watching Oikawa whip his pencil between nimble fingers. “Do we need to go shopping tonight?”

“Yeah, I'm low on some things. You wanna come with?”

Oikawa nods, casually reaching his free hand across the desk, padding along Iwaizumi's palm until he manages to pry his fingers apart, lacing them together. “Hold this,” he whispers, a cheeky smile pulled back over his teeth. Iwaizumi jolts, reflexively looking around the room for anyone that may be looking at them. “Are you crazy?” Iwaizumi hisses.

“I wanted to hold hands,” Oikawa mumbles, his gaze intense and unrelenting. Blushing madly, Iwaizumi turns back to the lecture, gnawing on his lip to keep the smile from taking over more than just a tremor in his chest.

It's definitely weird, how affectionate Oikawa has been recently. Not that he's exactly bothered by it (in fact he couldn't be more elated than a kid in disneyland right now, but he feels unsettled, like if he just accepts this fact, it might rip from underneath him. For the past four days, his heart hasn't felt that dull ache or throb that reminds him he's forever heart broken.

That scares the hell out of him more than anything.

When class ends, they stroll down the hallway, Oikawa complaining that he doesn't want to go to Physics class, how tired he is, how he wishes the day were over. Iwaizumi sidesteps his flailing arms, growling at him to quit his complaining. “Just go,” Iwaizumi grumbles, adjusting his bag on his shoulder, “it's only an hour long.”

“Don't you wanna hang out with me?”

“I have class too, remember? Intro to Architecture?”

Oikawa pouts, shrugging his shoulders without any meaning to it. “Fine,” he harrumphs.

As they near the staircase, where Oikawa goes up and Iwaizumi goes straight, Iwaizumi goes to bid the brunet goodbye. Instead, he lets out a mangled yelp, feeling two hands snag the lapels of his jacket and snap him off the ground and against the nook underneath the desolate stairs. Iwaizumi often forgets about Oikawa's brute strength. He only ever sees him use it during practice, so he never remembers that he's actually quite tough off the court as well.

“ _Damn it, Assikawa—!”_

His eyes fly wide, but it's not like they're of any use. His vision is blurred, all senses having vanished but feeling. The star ascending kiss that sears through lips and sets his skin on fire, coils up into his stomach and letting out the smallest of mewls. Oikawa glides his tongue along his bottom lip, trapping it, a low, feral chuckle sounding when every bit of breath leaves Iwaizumi's lungs. “So sensitive, Iwa-chan,” he purrs.

“I could throw that right back at you,” he wheezes, blinking his eyes back into focus.

“Maybe tonight you can,” he hums, “call me when you're out of class, 'kay?”

“Ugh...sure,” Iwaizumi coughs, but he can't completely hide the eagerness in his voice, the crooked smile in the corner of his mouth. Oikawa presses his lips to his cheek for a bit longer than necessary, before he let's him go, hands gliding away from his chest in the most sensual of touches. He's gone in a flash, ascending the staircase, leaving Iwaizumi to slump against the wall, brain fuzzy and heart racing. He wanted to ask what his deal was, why he was so damn touchy all of the sudden, but he forgot everything to do with the world once Oikawa had kissed him. He clears his throat, adjusts his jacket and whirls around the staircase, heading for his next class.

“I-I won't say anything...!”

Iwaizumi flinches, looking back to see a student—probably a first year. His jaw falls open when he recognizes who it is.

They belong to his literature class. They're small, but they're a second year as well. Iwaizumi's stomach drops out, his face tinging a brilliant vermillion. “Er...thanks,” he sighs. He wheels on his heel and sprints to class, not looking back to measure their flustered expression.

Jesus Christ, he was never going to live that down.

 

* * *

 

Iwaizumi trudges loudly through the apartment door, kicking his shoes off in violently and throwing his book back against the wall so hard he hears something crack inside. Shit, there goes his pencil sharpener.

How could he have been so blind? He glares at the rolled clump of papers between his fingers, feeling failure seep into his bones.

He doesn't even notice Oikawa was sitting on the living room couch the whole time.

“Iwa-chan...? Are you okay?” He asks, long legs heaving him from the couch and over to his roommate in a fraction of a second. Iwaizumi gruffly pushes the roll of wasted trees at Oikawa's chest, silent, a murderous look in his eyes.

Oikawa slowly unfolds it, expression softening when he sees the giant red mark at the top of a page, along with way too many smaller red marks below it. Iwaizumi was always a pretty consistent student. While his marks weren't anything born of a genius, he worked hard, and it paid off. So seeing a grade below the number seventy was quite the shocker.”Oh... well...maybe the test was hard?”

“ _Yes_. It was hard. Because I haven't even looked over jack shit on this test! I didn't even know I had one!” Iwaizumi roars, raking his fingers through his hair angrily. He kicks out of his shoes at the doorway and throws his jacket under his arm, stomping towards the bedroom. He knows what his problem is.

It's that beautiful brunet that's following him into his bedroom as we speak. Not that any of this is his fault, Iwaizumi is just too distracted by his very presence that he's wanted to focus on nothing else. All he can recall for the past week is him and Oikawa together practically everywhere outside of class, and instead of hitting the books like he should have been, he was watching reruns of Oikawa's favorite shows, fighting with him in the kitchen as he made food, and praising him through words thick with lust at night, breathless with backs arched and bodies flush.

 _Oh_.

“Iwa-chan, it's okay, it's just one test. You can make this up, right?”

“Yeah... I can,” Iwaizumi shrugs his shoulders, fishing through his closet to grab a change of clothes. “Hey, Oikawa,” he peeks out of his drawers to see the brunet waiting like a puppy at the edge of his bed.

“For a while, I need to focus on school,” he says, taking his clothes with him as he moves to take the shower. Maybe it doesn't look like it from first glance, but Iwaizumi takes his grades seriously, and coming to this school partially on a volleyball scholarship means that he doesn't have room to slip. Not only will he lose his spot on the team, but he'll have a very angry mother on his doorstep with a whole hell of a lot to say.

Plus, he'll lose time with this beauty in front of him.

“I get it,” Oikawa grins at him, “do you need help studying?”

“Er...no, it's for architecture. I joined a study group,” Iwaizumi nods, recalling that he should enter the phone numbers from his notebook into his phone soon, or he'll forget. Oikawa purses his lips, but instead of making a remark about how Iwaizumi shouldn't forget about him, or something along the lines of his usual childish phrases, he just bobs his head in compliance.

“Alrighty,” he says simply, shrugging his shoulders.

“Really? I figured you'd be a lot more annoyed,” Iwaizumi comes back honestly, because Oikawa void of a complaint is rare, and normally problematic later.

“How rude, I can be tolerant when I need it,” Oikawa pushes from the bed, moving forward and capturing lips with his own. It's quicker than Iwaizumi wants it to be, but he leaves him with just a chaste kiss of good luck. “Do your best, Iwa-chan!”

Iwaizumi mumbles a thank you before Oikawa leaves him there, returning to the living room to work on whatever he'd been working on. He moves to the shower, hoping the hot water will make him somewhat forget about his blunder of a test that definitely dropped his grade.

And from that moment on, he went into rigorous study mode.

From morning till night he was barely home, dashing in and out to grab food and supplies before heading back out to study. In between classes he'd be in the library, a pencil between his teeth and textbooks splayed out around him as he scribbled down notes, reading and rereading paragraphs over and over again like an attempt to just memorize the whole text book.

At the end of the week, he trudged back inside the apartment full of exhaustion and irritation, his mind on an auto replay of all the information he'd just crammed in there.

“Iwa-chan, you look tired,” Iwaizumi hears the voice behind him, arms slipping around his torso. He heaves a sigh, Oikawa always feels good in the late afternoon after a long day.

“I'm exhausted,” he grumbles, “I'm just gonna go to bed,” he steps out of Oikawa's grip and discards clothing, switching into pajamas and making a break for his mattress. At some point Oikawa had probably climbed in with him, but he was too tired to really notice, and within ten minutes of lying down, he was out like a light.

It should have ceased after just a week of cramming, but with Iwaizumi's final coming up soon, he had to redeem himself somehow. The studying didn't stop, and Iwaizumi spent more time out of the apartment than ever. It started to wear on Oikawa's patience.

“Iwa-chan, you're never here anymore,” he whines, tugging at his shirt as he packs his school bag. He's got a study session soon. Iwaizumi secures his bag tight and stands up, looking back at the brunet that keeps pawing at his shoulders.

“Sorry, I just really need a good grade in this class. Just give me until next week, I think,” he says it as he disappears back into his room to put on a sweatshirt. When he comes back, Oikawa stops him, tugging at the drawstrings of his sweatshirt and pulling his hood tight around his neck. “All this studying isn't good for you, Iwa-chan!”

He folds his arms around him and nuzzles that sweet spot just under his ear, purring lightly, “stay with me tonight, we can watch that new show you wanted to try, and I'll go get some of our favorites from the store! And _later,_ I'll get _that_ from my room and we can--”

“Sorry, Oikawa, really,” Iwaizumi takes a step back, his heart thudding quicker than usual, cheeks slightly pink. The offer was way tempting, and he was on the very edge of saying yes, but that test grade appeared in his mind like a horror movie. He pries Oikawa's hands from his sides and sends him a small repentant smile. “I would love to, but I've gotta finish this.”

“Am I really not that important?” Oikawa whines, “Why don't you care about me, Iwa-chan?”

“Quit complaining. Call a friend of yours for a bit if you're so bored.”

Oikawa's jaw pops open for a slight moment, looking surprised that he even said such a thing. Isn't it obvious that he doesn't want to call a friend? “That's not the point. You've barely looked at me for a whole eight days! I'm asking for one night, Iwa _-_ chan _—C'mon, please,”_ he purrs, and moves towards Iwaizumi again, drowning him in a fusillade of kisses along his skin, hands prying at his shirt, the start of sweet nothings in his ear that Iwaizumi is so weak to.

The black haired teen sighs, growling in pathetic protest when Oikawa's fingers hook through his empty belt loops, yanking him closer with a satisfied smirk. He's almost got him. “C'mon Iwa-chan, one night. Take out all your stress on me.”

“Oikawa, no,” he groans, “stop it, I'm serious. You're being selfish.” Oikawa smiles against his throat, drawing his tongue over the new love bite he's just placed there. “Yeah, and?”

Iwaizumi snarls, ripping Oikawa's hands from his chest and forcing them back at his sides. He grips the brunet by his arms and holds him at a safe distance, glaring at him through flushed cheeks and slightly ragged breaths. “I mean it, knock that shit off.”

“You're half hard, you don't want me to leave you like that, do you?”

“ _Oikawa!_ ”

Oikawa freezes in place, the rejection finally hitting him through Iwaizumi's harsh snap. He exhales heavily and rolls his eyes to the ceiling, putting his hands up in a surrender. “Fine.”

Iwaizumi moves away from him and grabs his backpack, slinging it onto his shoulder. “I promise, once I'm done, I'm all yours.”

Oikawa is obviously miffed. He looks put off, shrugging his shoulders and turning away from Iwaizumi with a twist of his head and a short, “I don't care.”

Iwaizumi doesn't look back as he leaves with a goodbye. Oikawa will get over it, he thinks to himself. He feels bad about being so harsh. Maybe he'll comply when he gets home.

Only, when he does come back, Oikawa is already tucked inside his room, lights out. Iwaizumi thinks nothing of it, Oikawa often pouts whenever he doesn't get what he wants. He'll come around.

Iwaizumi finds it odd when he comes home in between his class breaks and doesn't find Oikawa there. He only saw the teen briefly in their math class, where they'd hold small conversations split through pauses in the professor's lecture. But outside of that, Oikawa was nowhere to be found. Iwaizumi would come home and find him either not home at all or already tucked into his bedroom sound asleep.

“You're studying, Iwa-chan,” he said whenever Iwaizumi asked about it. He projected a smile at him before disappearing down the hallway for his next class. Iwaizumi figures there might be something wrong with that answer, but he doesn't question it. Oikawa understands. Oikawa knows he has school to focus on.

Iwaizumi concludes. Once he's done with all of this studying, he'll do something nice for the brunet. He'll take him somewhere, buy him something, spend a whole weekend with him even. He smiles to himself and spins on his heel, heading for the library. He wants to hurry to finish with this next exam and get back to Oikawa, and now he has just the motivation he needs.

 

* * *

 

The April showers were to be expected, just as the saying goes. But what an inconvenience they were when one had to run back and forth across campus for classes, to and from the gym for practice. Iwaizumi would probably never admit it to her face, but he was damn glad his mom had won the fight on buying him some ugly rain coat. He partly hadn't wanted the damn thing because it was the most hideous of designs, a sickly greenish yellow with way too many pockets and zippers for God knows what. They argued for a solid ten minutes on the matter, until she used her crocodile tears and forced him to begrudgingly accept the jacket, swearing he would use it.

Now he practically lived in it.

Iwaizumi taps his heel into his beat up sneakers. He looks down at them, covered in dirt and grime, twists them into the floorboard, and decides he should probably replace them at the end of the school year. He reaches for his backpack and slings it onto his shoulders, checking his watch in the process. His study group meets up in about fifteen minutes, so he'll probably be five to ten minutes late, but that's no big deal.

“Oi, Oikawa, I'm leaving,” Iwaizumi calls over his shoulder.

He expects a response along the lines of “come back soon!” or even “don't trip out there!”

It dons on him in just that instance. When was the last time he actually talked to him?

Oikawa comes padding out of his bedroom, dressed shitty as ever. His cat print t-shirt in ugly yellows and off lavenders, loose sweatpants with a paint-spatter style that looked like they'd been a reject from the store itself. He probably got those things for free they were so hideous.

“Iwa-chan, oh...I like your raincoat,” he smiles, his voice soft.

Nothing about him seems radiant. If anything, the whole apartment feels grey and dim. Iwaizumi stands up straight from adjusting his shoe, tucking awkwardly at the fabric of the windbreaker. “Uhm...thanks. Hey, I'll be back on time for dinner. I mean, I'll just pick something up on the way. Any requests?”

“Whatever is fine,” Oikawa shrugs, his shoulders slumping a bit more than usual. There are bags under his eyes, his jaw is clenched, his lower lip just barely snagged between his teeth. He looks exhausted, and not from overwork. Iwaizumi would like to conclude that the gloomy weather has him feeling like this; Oikawa is prone to seasonal mood swings, but something tells him that this isn't just from the grey skies and the constant rain.

“Hey, c'mere,” Iwaizumi beckons, watching Oikawa's shoulders jump. He looks around like there might have been somebody else in the room that he could have been talking to. When he realizes it's him, he moves forward, and it doesn't take any more words for Oikawa to slip his arms around Iwaizumi's frame. He squeezes hard, burying his face into the spot where Iwaizumi's neck meets his shoulder, his chestnut curls tickling just beneath his ear.

Iwaizumi smooths circles into his lower back, a wry smile daring to tug at the corners of his lips. “I know I've been busy. I'm sorry for being distant.”

Oikawa doesn't say anything, though. At least not out loud. He mumbles something too low for Iwaizumi to hear, pressing the words into his bronze skin like a pained secret. Iwaizumi feels a dull tug in his chest, sending an anxiety coiling into the pit of his stomach. He hasn't felt that dull tug since the last time Oikawa brought a girl over. So why now?

“You don't look good, you sure you're okay?”

“Iwa-chan...?”

“Ah..yeah...?”

It's only there for a split second, a look of fear in his eyes that makes the air thick. It's replaced with nothing, void, distant like he was when he first emerged from the bedroom. And then he smiles, and it makes Iwaizumi's heart twinge. “Study hard, okay?”

He reaches forward and presses a kiss just beneath his eye, before he lets go of him entirely. Iwaizumi waits a moment, drinking in the reality that for once, Oikawa has just placed a kiss on him and he hasn't left his body and gone soaring into the skies. It takes every part of him not to reach out and grab the brunet, maybe out of fear, maybe out of something he can't place. What is it? Why does he feel so glum?

“Oikawa, I was angry before, you know. I'm not--”

“I know, you don't want to fail. I would have gotten mad, too. It's okay,” his words are all right. He says all the right things, and they're sincere, if only they sounded lively like they usually do. Oikawa always says the right things. It's not words that he struggles with. It never has been.

“Go, you're already late,” he waves for him to hurry out the door.

Iwaizumi turns on his heel, awkwardly bidding him a goodbye as he reaches to shut the door.

It scares him for some reason, the thought of seeing Oikawa's expression as he shuts the door, so he doesn't look. Good thing, too, because right as he shuts the door, he knows his facial expression is no better. He wipes it away, shaking it off. It's just tense because of school, right?

Once exams are over, it'll be okay, everything will go back to as it was—

What does that mean?

It's not like they're actually together, they've only been like this for a month. Oikawa suddenly waking up one morning looking like a present from heaven, wrapped in a bow and given to Iwaizumi for...how long? If Iwaizumi takes a good look at the track record, Oikawa won't last. He's bound to see Yuki appear at the apartment soon, or maybe a new girl, maybe even a guy this time. Oikawa might switch things up for once.

Anger rips through Iwaizumi's chest as he storms through the rain, across the campus to the library. So that's it, Oikawa was just taking a vacation from his usual lifestyle, huh? Testing the waters on just how loyal his best friend is, just how much he can do to him until he snaps? Well _fuck that_. _Fuck everything he stands for—_ his anger dies out just as fast. What good would anger do? He'd already decided he'd never leave Oikawa, no matter what happened. The anger is replaced with a heavy guilt. He would be there, through thick and thin, despite how many people Oikawa brought over, even when it dwindled to one person, until Oikawa would stop using Iwaizumi as an outlet, until he'd ask him to be his best man.

Iwaizumi scrapes the soles of his shoes against the doormat, shaking off some of the water from the rain. All he'd be left with were memories of their dingy college apartment, the couple of nights that Oikawa had come to him drunk, the meaningless kisses they shared, the late night sweet nothings that poured into ears that always sounded so real, like they would last forever. He'd hold onto the times they'd have movie marathons and cuddle on the couch, or that time when they stared into each other beneath the warm sun as Oikawa sketched him onto a canvas. He'd never forget the few nights he had Tooru beneath him breathless, Iwaizumi's name on his lips and fingers feathering along skin, bodies pressed together in nothing but pleasure, once, twice, three times knowing what it was like to be inside of the only person he'll ever love. Even though only he would cherish these things, at least they were real.

He felt like he was preparing himself to say goodbye.

But he'd been doing this for years, hadn't he?

One month had shot all of his efforts to shit.

“Iwaizumi-kun!”

He lifts his head from the staircase, finding his study group flagging him down at the table. On cue, he smiles, approaching them with a normal greeting and an apology for being late. He was getting better at hiding his feelings, oddly enough.

“So, where do we start?” He asks, twirling his pen between his fingers. He strategically places his phone on the table next to his notebook. He knows himself that he shouldn't have it out, but he prays by some miracle that the gloomy Oikawa back home might just send him something, anything, a validation that these past four weeks haven't been just a dream, and that he won't have to remember Oikawa as the one that got away.

 

* * *

 

The gloomy grey skies had now curtained into a deep blue, smoky, thick with rain and void of stars. These were Oikawa's most hated nights, because he couldn't talk about one constellation, or trace a drawing into the stars with his fingers and create a backstory around it. This one time, he'd etched a rabbit between the twinkling, white hot suns, talking about how it had looked all over just for a simple carrot. The story was ridiculous, probably a tale you could amaze a group of five year olds with, but it was nonetheless Oikawa; his creativity and optimism were incomparable.

Not one text. Iwaizumi's heart raced; his phone was quiet the entire time, save for one text from Tanaka about extra practice. That one text made him jump so hard from his seat, he had to apologize for nearly knocking over his classmate's tea.

“Sorry, I'm gonna go grab a drink, does anyone want anything?” Iwaizumi asks out of being polite. When everyone dismisses him without a request, he snags his phone form the table and makes his way to the stairs. He'll probably buy some coffee and call Tooru, see how he's doing.

As he descends the staircase, going to whip about the corner and head for the vending machine, he nearly rams straight into someone. Well, he doesn't make it without fault. He drops his phone, hearing an unpleasant crack as it snaps against the pale blue tiles. “Fuck!” he curses, quickly kneeling down to scoop it up and check for damages.

“Oh my gosh I'm sorry!” the voice squeaks from above him. It sounds light, clear, probably cute if he had to guess.

After checking to make sure his phone is okay, he gets to his feet once again, shaking his head with an apology on his lips. “No no, I was the one who ran into you. You're not hurt are you?” He looks up from his hands, eyes widening, jaw dropping when he recognizes the face.

“Yuki...right?” he asks, remembering the soft face, the luscious hair, the goddess of a figure. He engrains her outfit into his mind, forcibly erasing the one of her in one of Oikawa's dress shirts.

“Yukino,” she gently corrects, laughing when Iwaizumi's cheeks warm to a soft crimson. “Iwaizumi-kun... no, we seem to be on first names already. Hajime?”

“Yeah,” he nods, clearing his throat as he subtly avoids eye contact. This is way too awkward, especially since their last conversation was pretty much about what a frivolous guy Oikawa could be.

Yukino tucks her hair behind her ear, adjusting her notebooks against her chest, her brilliant colored eyes blinking upwards at him with a question on her lips. She looks sort of awkward as well, she just looks better at doing it. “You're really brave, Hajime. I don't know if I could have just up and left Tooru that way.”

Wait, what?

“Wait, what?” Iwaizumi repeats aloud, shaking his head at the question. Apparently he had sounded a bit angry or something, because Yukino instantly retreats. Her cheeks redden, her hand flying up apologetically. “O-oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend you!”

Iwaizumi's hand grips tight on his phone. “I have no idea what you're talking about.”

“It's okay, Tooru told me. You got tired of him messing with you, so you found a new apartment. If I were a strong as you, I'd have done the same thing...” her eyes grow as Iwaizumi's face contorts into a whole spectrum of emotions. “You...aren't moving, are you?”

“What did he say to you, Yukino?” Iwaizumi sounds murderous. His heart can't stop racing, slamming against his chest plate, anger, anxiety, anguish swirling throughout his body. Is this why Oikawa has been so blue lately? He thought Iwaizumi was leaving?

The smallest bit of happiness floats through Iwaizumi's stress; the validity that Oikawa's sudden change of heart these past four weeks wasn't him using his upper hand, but that he really had tried to tie himself down to just Iwaizumi alone.

“ _Oh my God Hajime,_ I'm so sorry. He said he found a couple of inquiries in the mail for you on some local studios, and you had just been so far away lately—agh,” she tangles her fingers through her hair in frustration, “he's at home packing right now,” she whips out her phone, “I'll call him, hold on--”

“No, don't. Don't, you'll make him panic,” Iwaizumi shakes his head, “thank you, Yukino. I'll go straighten this out.”

“Okay. Okay. He said he was going to stay at a friend's, so if he's not there when you get back, just call me,” she scribbles her number onto a slip of paper and pushes it into Iwaizumi's hands. Iwaizumi hesitates, unsure if he should hug her, give her a handshake, _something_ as compensation.

“Thank me later! Go!” she whirls him around and pushes him back towards the stairs.

He sprints up the staircase, racing back towards his table and reaching for his text books. He slams them shut with a rush, forcing them into his backpack like he he's on the clock. Well, he is, really.

“Sorry! Something came up, I've gotta go,” He tells his study group as he hurriedly slips into his raincoat. He takes the steps down three at a time, racing for the exit to get home. He thinks quickly about how long it would take him to get back if he sprints through the rain, and only gets about halfway through the math before he just says _fuck it_ and takes off sprinting.

His rain coat is meaningless, he'd forgotten to zip it up in his scramble to get out of the library. But he doesn't care. He sloshes through puddles, snapping his backpack tight onto his back so it doesn't shake so much. “Damn it...! Oikawa you idiot,” He growls, hooking a left and leaping out onto the empty street. All he has left is the quad and one more cross street and he's home.

A surprised shout bursts from his chest when his sole gives way and sends him sliding across the laminated granite ground—why the fuck do the schools have to make everything so pretty—and slamming against the concrete with a loud _thwack._

Pain shoots through his leg and shoulder, but the adrenaline has him back on his feet, continuing his mad dash back to his doorstep. His leg hurts for sure, he knows if he thinks about it too much it'll slow him down. The backpack now wet and heavy has rubbed against his back so much that it dully aches, and his entire body is drenched from the rain and so cold he'd be shivering if he stood still.

His lungs hurt, it's so cold, and his breathing is erratic and becoming more painful to focus on the closer he gets. “Come on, please still be here, please still be here,” he snarls as he jingles with his keys, racing up the stairwell and down the hall to the apartment door. He jams his key into the lock on the first try, nearly hollering with joy because luck is on his side right now, and kicks it open, hard.

He thrusts his backpack onto the ground, eyes peeling around the apartment for Oikawa.

He doesn't have to look hard, the brunet is standing in the center of the living room, hands folded around an envelope that's pressed to his face. Oikawa looks over to the door in surprise, his eyes wide, bleary and red, his face a mess of fluids and his cheeks a blotchy crimson. “I-Iwa-chan— _hic—_ you weren't supposed to be home!” he hurriedly scrubs at his face with his sleeve, doing a poor job at cleaning, and an even poorer job at hiding how upset he is.

Iwaizumi's heart drops with relief that he's still here.

“Oikawa...”

“Don't,” Oikawa says dangerously, hand curled around the envelope. Iwaizumi only just notices the two duffle bags next to the living room table. He really was planning on leaving.

“Wait, I think you've--”

“I didn't misunderstand anything, Iwa-chan... this was my fault after all,” Oikawa smiles bitterly, fingers shaking as he tries hard to smooth out the envelope in his fingers. The parchment is rumpled and damp with tears, but he looks so intent on smoothing it back to perfection. He can barely keep it in his hands he's shaking so hard. “I kept telling myself if I brought people home...I thought, _Iwa-chan would hate me if I did this...right?_ But you still let me in... so then I thought, if I keep coming back, maybe you would hold onto me,” Oikawa sniffles, pausing to wipe his face with his sleeve again before he goes back to trying to smooth out that stupid envelope.

“I figured you would look at me like I wasn't a burden?” He laughs to himself; his voice is brittle, silvery, on the edge of a pain that he's terrified to feel. “I know you're too nice, so you would say it if I wanted you to. And that night, I wanted you to say it so bad... _so bad...!”_ His voice catches in his throat, partly strangled on a sob that he won't dare let slip. “But uhm! You wanted someone who would commit. So...I tried that, yeah? Just being yours... because maybe that would make you finally tell me you love me, so I could maybe think I wasn't making it up.”

Oikawa shakes his head, his thumb smoothing the tear drops on the envelope into round, stretched stains that only worsen the wrinkles. “Why couldn't you be meaner from the start? Moving out is so cowardly...and I'm doing the same thing...hahah! You're so mean, Iwa-chan... making me think this was real...! _You didn't have to fuck me, you know?!_ That was just too far...!” Oikawa is beyond using his sleeve to salvage the last bit of dignity on his face. He's given up on trying to smooth out that envelope, and just wrinkles it again, his shoulders shaking as he uses every last part of him not to sob aloud.

“It's okay,” he smiles, although it's probably the most painful smile he's ever had to put on his face. “You don't have to move, Iwa-chan. I'll just go. So...”

“You're such an idiot. You're so damn stupid,” Iwaizumi says, and in a flash, he's moved across the room from the door to Oikawa, wrapping his arms around the brunet. “What ever made you think that I didn't love you?”

Oikawa won't look up from the envelope he's buried his face into.

“This whole time I thought it was _you_ who didn't love me. I really did try hard to give up on you. And when that didn't work I just signed myself up for eternal heartache,” Iwaizumi sighs, shaking his head. He sopping wet, but neither of them seem to care.

“Oikawa, look at me,” he says, moving back enough to grip Oikawa's wrists. “N-no! Stop!”

“Hey, I'm not moving.”

Iwaizumi pries Oikawa's hands away, reaching up and cupping his face with both hands, smoothing his thumbs along the tear trails that run down his scarlet cheeks. “I'm not moving, those inquiries you found were old news.”

Oikawa stares at him in disbelief, and a bit of embarrassment. “You mean...this whole time you...you do love me?”

Iwaizumi nods, “ever since high school,” he grins at him, laughing when Oikawa's face contorts like he's about to cry again. “I'm not going anywhere. So go put that shit back where you found it,” he gestures to the duffle bags in the corner.

Oikawa sniffles again, hard, his lips still quivering, body still shivering slightly as he tries to calm himself down. “Iwa-chan...! _Iwa-chan._.. I love you, okay? I love you so much, Hajime, _Hajime--!”_

“Yeah, I know, I know,” Iwaizumi tucks him close again, hushing him softly into his hair and fixing his grip so there was no way Oikawa could even think that he would let go. Oikawa whimpers an apology into Iwaizumi's skin, and they stay like that, slightly rocking back and forth, in the still silence of the dim lit apartment, both of them silent save for _I love you_ and _I'm sorry_ in hushed voices, arms wrapped about each other, pulling and tearing taught at skin through fabric because they're both still unsure that they won't go slipping away from each other. Oikawa finally stops shivering at some point, and at another he's pressed his mouth over Iwaizumi's, another barrage of those three affectionate words and Iwaizumi's name on his lips.

The kiss is sloppy, full of wanted words and things that needed to be said so long ago, but it grows warm, silent, deeper as they sink to their knees, carrying the both of them high up and resting them on a bed made of stars, as warm as those billion little suns that ignite an elation underneath skin and flooding to cheeks so great that they almost forget how to breathe.

“I look so uncool,” Oikawa says after a while, frowning to himself, a pout on his lips. Iwaizumi presses the pad of his index finger between Oikawa's eyebrows and smiles softly at him. “You rarely ever look cool, so don't worry.”

“So mean, Iwa-chan!” He whines, “I know you think I'm really cute right now!”

“Yeah...you really are,” Iwaizumi presses his lips gently to his forehead. “So...what's in this envelope?”

“It's hate mail. All the bad things about Iwa-chan summed up in one nasty letter. There's some blackmail, too,” Oikawa nods, and Iwaizumi raises a brow at him curiously. “Is that why you were trying to hard to save it? Lemme read it.”

“No way. You can't. It doesn't matter now,” Oikawa smiles, nuzzling against Iwaizumi's nose. “Let's get you out of these wet clothes, jeez.”

“Should we shower?” Iwaizumi asks.

Oikawa holds for a beat, looking at their hands laced together. He smiles softly, peeking at Iwaizumi through thick lashes. “Iwa-chan... can we just be like this tonight? No sex.”

“Huh? I wasn't thinking that—”

“I know,” Oikawa smiles, and Iwaizumi understands. He nods in agreement and kisses the back of Oikawa's hand. “Okay, that's fine.”

They take turns showering off, changing into fresh clothes, Iwaizumi's simple with dark blues and greys, Oikawa's hideously normal for himself, with crazy plaid and no shirt. Oikawa instantly folds himself into Iwaizumi as they tumble into his bed, shivering together beneath the cold, crisp sheets.

“How did you know I was leaving?”

“Yukino,” Iwaizumi admits, “weird, I know. But I have her to thank.”

“Yuki-chan is really an angel, I should apologize to her,” he mumbles, chewing on his lip in thought. “So...since high school, huh?”

“Yup...how about you?”

Oikawa just smiles at him, like silence would be a sufficient answer. When Iwaizumi sends him a pointed look, he sheepishly averts his eyes and hides his face into the pillow. “Since middle...”

“Get out,” Iwaizumi laughs out loud.

“This is really all your fault, then! I was first!”

“I'm so terrible,” Iwaizumi sighs sarcastically, feeling Oikawa wiggle up against him with a pleased hum and sigh. “Hey, Iwa-chan? Do I actually get to call you mine now?”

“I think so, I mean, there's no backing out of this now,” Iwaizumi says, fingers tracing lightly on Oikawa's shoulders, tapping gently on each of the sun-born freckles. “You know, that means you have to tell me nice things all the time.”

“I do? Okay,” Iwaizumi hums for a few moments, collecting his thoughts on just what _nice things_ he could tell his new boyfriend. “You look really cute when you're working on art projects. You always stick your tongue out and frown, or get really close to your page,” Iwaizumi smiles to himself at the thought, recalling the many a days he'd seen Oikawa work on some piece just like that.

“I do that? How weird,” Oikawa looks up at the ceiling, waiting for another nice compliment.

“I love when you lean on me while I make food, and you _always_ take food before it's ready. Seriously, when will you learn?”

“How is that remotely cute?”

“Because it always made me feel like we were together in moments like that,” he admits point bank, and it silences Oikawa just a little. “You can do better than that. C'mon, Iwa-chan. Tell me something that'll blow me away.”

Iwaizumi peeks at him, his skin flushing just a little. He clears his throat and adjusts his arm looped about Oikawa's back. “I also love seeing you in the mornings, when you've just woken up, and your hair is a complete mess, and your skin is warm from the morning sun, flushed and radiant, shadows in contours...” Iwaizumi draws his thumb along Oikawa's cheek, before moving it down to the shadow of his throat.

“Your voice is thick with sleep, and your eyes are droopy and half lidded but they're filled with the sun and all the stars, and they all glow when you smile. I love that the most, because not only are you absolutely breathtaking, but you're right next to me, and it's everything I could have ever asked for, and it's every embodiment of the definitions of why I love you.”

He looks up from the junction of Oikawa's shoulder to his bicep, looking into two crystalline rimmed copper eyes set over a carmine blush. “Blown away?”

“Yeah...say that again.”

“Not a chance,” Iwaizumi growls. Oikawa leans forward, pressing his lips against Iwaizumi's in what could be a kiss of apology, love, desperation, anything and everything. Because even though there are clouds hanging heavy with rain above their roof, the billions of stars are all around them in clusters: between their fingers, gliding along skin, exploding like fireworks when they kiss, dancing in rhythms when they laugh, embedding themselves into gazes that become memories for the future.

He falls asleep that night with Tooru tucked tight in his arms, a smile on his face, I love you's soft in the midnight air, awaiting the next morning when he'd be blown away by the deity that would wake up beside him and illuminate the room.

Love isn't something that grows on you, he figured out. It plunges straight into you, invading your every sense of sanity and distorting it, shattering your every shred of logic into a thousand puzzle pieces and letting you figure out just how to put them back together. It feels exhilarating at first, something new, something undiscovered, slight fear of that unknown. But it's exhausting, and _God_ does it hurt, the more you struggle for those damned pieces to come together, some salvation of yourself as you accept that your heart yearns for someone.

It's the best when you put that last piece in place, and you look at your hard work, and you think to yourself you did so well, you worked so hard, and it wasn't in vain. Because right across the completed puzzle stands the love of your life, waiting with the biggest of smiles, hands outstretched, waiting for you.

Iwaizumi had first fallen for Oikawa while watching him gaze passionately into the sky during a meteor shower, because the glimmer of the lights against the sky reflected in his eyes was something he had never seen before, or maybe paid attention to, but right then it was so apparent, and it struck Iwaizumi like one of those meteors, because he'd never be able to forget that he would no longer have to look up to understand what made Oikawa so beautiful, he just had to look at the brunet himself. Right there, at a mere fifteen years old, his world had exploded into shards and fragments, scattering themselves in what seemed like the most obscure of places.

And here, at nineteen years old, he had finally placed the last piece back in it's place, and sure enough when he looked up, there Oikawa was, telescope in one hand, fireworks in the other, covered in dirt and bruises and calling his name beneath a sky full of stars in warm summer air, just like he was on the night he fell in love. He is so irrevocably in love with this petty, terribly dressed goofball and there is absolutely nothing he would do to change that.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cried so hard writing this I'm so lame ;-;
> 
> That's a wrap for this adventure! Sorry for anyone who was expecting smut this chapter, I really wanted to just focus on the relationship, and I decided that putting any smut here might take away from the whole principle that these two goons were tripping over themselves to get this right. Plus I'm still working on improving my smut skills so...yeah.
> 
> I noticed I put a lot more dialogue in this one than the others, but I think it was necessary :3
> 
> Comments and kudos are appreciated, and thank you to everyone whose said such nice things so far, you all are really sweet and definitely kept me motivated to finish this!!
> 
> Reach me on my tumblr [Tumblr](http://fukuchan.god.jp) or my [twitter](https://twitter.com/tendousatori)!
> 
> Thanks again everyone!!!


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